THE  GIFT  OF 

FLORENCE  V.  V.  DICKEY 

TO  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


THE  DONALD  R.  DICKEY 

LIBRARY 
OF  VERTEBRATE  ZOOLOGY 


/ 

Jl^\ 

,v.  / 


•a* 


BIRD    BIOGRAPHIES 

AND    OTHER    BIRD    SKETCHES 


DELIGHTFUL  NATURE  BOOKS 

UNIFORM   WITH  THIS  VOLUME 

Through  Birdland  Byways  with  Pen  and 
Camera.  By  Oliver  G.  Pike,  F.Z.S., 
F.R.P.S. 

12  mounted  collotype  plates. 

36  full-page  art  cuts  in  duo-tone. 

216  pages  of  text  (demy  8vo). 

Charming  end  papers  in  colour. 

Handsome  full  gilt  cloth  binding. 
Farther  Afield    in    Birdland.    By  Oliver 

G.  Pike.     224  pages,  1 2  Collotype  Plates,  36 

full-page  cuts,  charming  end  papers. 
Better  gift  books,  either  for  adults,  boys,  or  girls, 
can  hardly  be  imagined.     The  reader  dwells  in  the 
fairyland  of  Nature  ;  the  author  shows  us  some  of 
Nature's  most  wonderful  secrets.     The  works  are 
the  outcome  of  years  of  tireless  study  and  observa- 
tion.    The  illustrations  are  most  remarkable. 
Wild    Animals    and    the     Camera.      By 

W.  P.  Dando,  F.Z.S. 

12  mounted  collotype  plates. 

58  art  plates  in  duo-tone. 

1 80  pages  of  text  (demy  8vo). 

Charming  end  papers  in  colour. 

Handsome  full  gilt  cloth  binding. 
More  Wild  Animals  and  the  Camera.     By 

W.   P.   Dando.     228  pages,   12  Collotype 

Plates,  58  cuts,  charming  end  papers. 
Mr.  Dando  needs  no  introduction  ;  his  marvellous 
studies  of  wild  animal  life  have  achieved  an  inter- 
national reputation.  These  books  include  his  best 
photographs,  with  accurate,  delightfully  written 
letterpress.  ^Corning  Post :  "  Mr.  Dando  will  re- 
ceive the  thanks  of  all  for  having  written  and 
illustrated  such  fascinating  books." 


BIRD    BIOGRAPHIES 

AND   OfHER   BIRD    SKETCHES 


BY 

OLIVER   G.   PIKE,   F.Z.S.,  F.R.P.S. 

Fellow  of  tlie  Institute  of  Lecturers 


WITH  PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  THE  AUTHOR 
AND  BY  ARTHUR  BROOK 
ALL  FROM  WILD  NATURE 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


TO 

MY    DEAR    WIFE 

I   LOVINGLY   DEDICATE 
THIS   BOOK 


553741 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.      THE  BUZZARD  .  .  .  .13 

II.     THE  KINGFISHER  AND  ITS  HOME  .        43 

III.  THE  BIRDS  OF  A  NORTHERN   LOCH  .        $8 

IV.  THE  VILLAGE  THRUSH          ,               .  -78 
V.     THE  EGGS  ON   TOP  OF  THE  HILL  .        88 

VI.     THE  NEST  IN   THE  OLD  OAK  .  .        97 

VII.     THE  NEST  ON   THE  GREY  CRAG     .  .      IIO 

VIII.      THE  CRADLE  IN   THE   REEDS  .  .121 

IX.      THE   LAKE  IN   THE  VALLEY  .  .130 

X.      THE   HOME   IN   THE  OLD  STONE   BRIDGE  .      144 

XI.      THE  BIRDS  OF  COWSLIP  CORNER  .  -153 

XII.      BIRD-WATCHING          ....      l68 

INDEX  .  .  .  .  .177 

vii 


LIST    OF    PLATES 


WITH  A  LOOK  OF  PERFECT  CONTENTMENT  THE  LINNET 

SETTLED   UPON   HER   NEST  .  .  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

AFTER   HIS  FIRST  FLIGHT  THE  BUZZARD  LANDED  UPON 

A   ROCK         .  .  .  .  .  .28 

THE   KINGFISHER   CAPTURED    A    LARGE    FISH    TO   TAKE 

TO   ITS  YOUNG  .  .  .  .  .48 

THE   THRUSH   BROODING  OVER   HER   YOUNG      .  .        82 

THE   LAPWING  AND   HER  EGGS  .  .  .90 

THE   RAVEN  STOOD  ON  GUARD  ON  A  ROCK  ABOVE  THE 

NEST  .  .  .  .  .  .112 

THE  REED-WARBLER  WONDERED  WHEN  THEIR  LARGE 
APPETITES  WOULD  BE  SATISFIED  .  .  .121 

GREAT-CRESTED  GREBE  SWIMMING       .  .  .    136 

THE  LITTLE  GREBE  AT  REST  ON  HER  EGGS    .  .    140 

THE  DIPPER'S  NEST      .....     146 

THE  YOUNG  HEDGE-SPARROWS  CLAMOURED  LUSTILY 

FOR  MORE  FOOD    .....     164 

WHEN  THE  WREN  STOOD  NEAR  THE   NEST  THREE 

HUNGRY  BEAKS  WERE  THRUST  OUT          .  .     172 

viii 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

LOOKING  AROUND  .         l6 


STANDING  BY   HER   EGGS              .  .  .  .24 

(By  Arthur  Brook) 

SETTLED  UPON   HER  EGGS            .  .  .  32 

(By  Arthur  Btook) 

YOUNG  BUZZARD   AND  ITS  DEAD  COMPANION     .  .         34 

YOUNG  BUZZARDS  READY  TO   ENTER  THE  WORLD  .        36 
(By  Arthur  Brook) 

HIS   FIRST  RABBIT             .                .  .  .  .40 

(By  Arthur  Brook) 

OUTSIDE   HER  NESTING  HOLE     .  .  .  .46 

WATCHING  AND  WAITING              .  .  .  $O 

WAITING  FOR  A  FISH       .                .  .  .  •        52 

HER  PLUMAGE   RUFFLED  BY  THE  WIND  .  .         54 

THE  GREY-LAG  GOOSE   AT   REST  .  .  60 
ix 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

LOOKING  AT  HER   EGGS  .  .  .  .        60 

THE  GREY-LAG  GOOSE    STANDING  OVER   HER  EGGS       .        64 
THE  DIVER'S   HAUNT        .  .  .  .  .68 

THE    BLACK-THROATED    DIVER     IN    THE    WATER    AND 

CROUCHING  ON   HER  NEST  .  .  -7° 

RED-THROATED  DIVER   LEAVING   HER  NEST  .  .        76 

THE  VILLAGE  THRUSH    .  .  .  .  .        80 

CLAMOURING  FOR  MORE  FOOD  .  .  .  .84 

ALL  HER  BABIES  ASLEEP  .  .  .  .86 

A   YOUNG   LAPWING          .  .  .  .  .92 

LAPWING  AT   HER  NEST  .  .  .  .92 

THE  BLACKBIRD  .....      IOO 

RAVEN  ATTACKING  THE  PHOTOGRAPHER  .  .      Il6 

THE  RAVENS  LEFT  THE  CRAGS  AND  CIRCLED  OVER   MY 

HEAD  .  .  .  .  .  .Il6 

REED-WARBLER'S  NEST  .  x    .  .  .122 

THE  MALE  BIRD'S  NEST  .  .      122 

REED-WARBLER   FEEDING    HER   YOUNG.  .  .      124 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING    PAGE 

REED-WARBLER  AND   HER  YOUNG  126 


REED-WARBLERS  AT  THEIR  NEST  .  .  .      128 

THE   REED-WARBLER        .....      128 

THE  GREAT-CRESTED   GREBE       .  .  .  .      132 

AT  REST  ON   HER  EGGS.  .  .  .  .132 

THE  DIPPER         ......      148 

WILLOW   WRENS  AT   THEIR   NEST  .  .  .      154 

WILLOW  WRENS  AT  THEIR  NEST  .  .  .      156 

LINNETS  AT  THEIR   NEST  .  .  .  .      158 

THE  WHITETHROAT          .  .  .  .  .162 

THE  AUTHOR  GOING  OVER  THE  EDGE  .  .  .      170 

THE  AUTHOR  NEGOTIATING  AN  OVERHANGING  LEDGE  .      174 


CHAPTER     I 

THE    BUZZARD 
THE   BUZZARD'S   HOME 

"T^WELVE  years  ago  last  March,  I 
-*•  first  looked  upon  the  wild  hills  of 
Wales,  and  saw  the  Buzzard  in  its  home. 
The  grey  dawn  of  a  cold  morning  was 
giving  place  to  the  more  cheerful  light  of 
sunrise.  The  outlines  of  the  mountains 
were  sharp  and  clear  against  the  sky, 
covered  as  it  was  with  quickly  drifting 
clouds,  which  as  they  passed  the  east  were 
changed  to  red,  and  then  to  a  deeper 
crimson,  and  again  to  gold  as  the  sun 
came  up  between  two  great  hills.  I  could 
not,  if  I  tried,  forget  that  first  meeting 
with  the  hills,  and  now  although  twelve 
years  have  passed  I  love  them  more  than 


14  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

ever.  Each  year  since  I  have  visited  the 
Buzzard's  home,  sometimes  many  times 
in  the  course  of  a  year,  and  have  seen 
and  studied  this  magnificent  bird  at  all 
seasons,  and  under  all  conditions,  and  my 
pleasure  has  been  greater,  because  through 
all  these  years  not  a  single  specimen  has 
been  collected  to  help  in  my  research,  and 
not  a  single  egg  has  been  taken  from  the 
scores  of  nests  that  I  have  visited,  and 
no  birds  have  been  disturbed,  or  forsaken 
their  homes  through  my  photographic  work. 
I  went  to  the  Buzzard's  home  knowing 
absolutely  nothing  about  the  bird,  and 
the  observations  which  I  have  recorded 
in  this  life-story  of  the  bird  have  been 
gathered  at  first-hand  from  Nature. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  when  I 
landed  in  the  Buzzard's  home,  and  the 
only  two  birds  which  greeted  me  were  a 
Missel  Thrush  and  a  Twite,  which  were 
both  singing  to  the  rising  sun.  Later  on 
in  the  day  we  took  a  trap  and  drove  for 


THE  BUZZARD  15 

six  miles  away  into  the  heart  of  the  hills, 
away  from  stations  and  villages,  and  before 
we  reached  our  little  inn — an  altogether 
charming  place  where  my  happiest  days 
in  Birdland  have  been  spent — we  saw 
high  up  over  the  great  crags  six  Buzzards 
soaring. 

Before  we  trace  the  life  history  of  the 
Buzzard,  let  us  have  a  look  at  its  home. 
There  is  no  place  in  the  British  Islands 
where  we  have  such  splendid  opportunities 
of  seeing  the  bird  as  in  a  certain  spot  in 
Wales.  This  is  owing  to  the  protection 
accorded  the  birds  by  one  or  two  land- 
owners, and  the  efforts  that  these  gentle- 
men have  made  to  save  from  extinction 
one  of  our  noblest  birds  of  prey  deserves 
the  heartiest  thanks  of  all  bird-lovers.  I 
dread  to  think  what  would  have  happened 
to  the  Welsh  Buzzard  if  these  few  men 
had  not  protected  it,  or  if  the  same 
treatment  had  been  given  to  it  as  it 
receives  on  some  of  the  neighbouring 


16  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

estates.  But  now,  thanks  to  their  protec- 
tion, the  Buzzard  is  firmly  established  in 
this  part  of  Wales. 

Sometimes  when  I  have  been  looking 
out  over  the  great  wild  moors,  bleak  hills, 
vast  forests,  and  boiling  rivers,  I  have 
thought  what  a  fitting  place  the  Buzzard 
has  chosen  for  its  home.  Some  of  the 
haunts  can  be  described  with  one  word — 
solitude.  A  solitude  so  silent  and  im- 
pressive that  one  seems  almost  awed. 
I  remember  a  view  from  a  nest  high  up 
on  a  giant  crag.  It  was  stupendous,  and 
of  marvellous  grandeur.  Over  a  thousand 
feet  below  me,  the  river  winding  like  a 
silver  thread,  made  its  way  over  boulders 
and  between  rocks.  Snowy  white  water- 
falls and  smaller  mountain  streams,  as 
they  came  down  from  the  heights,  and 
the  wind  as  it  played  through  the  grass, 
were  the  only  sounds  that  greeted  me. 
The  higher  portions  of  the  hills  were 
dark  and  bare,  but  lower  down  patches 


LOOKING  AROUND. 


[Page  16 


THE  BUZZARD  17 

of  russet  brown  showed  where  last  season's 
dead  bracken  lay.  Small  winding  streaks 
seemed'  to  be  all  over  the  hills,  and  these 
were  the  well-trodden  pathways  of  moun- 
tain sheep.  Now  and  again,  the  loud 
"  mew "  of  a  Buzzard  was  heard  above 
the  music  of  the  waters,  and  the  harsh 
krraak,  krraak  of  the  Raven,  both  wild 
cries,  and  so  much  in  harmony  with  their 
surroundings.  In  this  vast  open  view 
before  me,  not  a  tree  or  bush  could  be 
seen,  but  as  we  travelled  on,  following  a 
mountain  stream  until  it  became  a  river, 
trees  became  numerous,  and  large  forests 
covered  the  hill-sides,  but  we  still  saw  or 
heard  the  cries  of  Buzzards  as  we  went 
near  to  the  spots  which  they  had  chosen 
for  their  nests.  All  kinds  of  scenery  we 
passed  through,  from  the  peat-covered 
hills,  rugged  and  bare,  and  broken  up  by 
the  action  of  water  into  a  hundred  deep 
ditches  passing  and  recrossing  each  other, 
in  a  puzzling  maze,  to  the  lower  meadows 


1 8  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

with  their  trees  and  hedges ;  but  in  all 
these  spots  we  came  across  the  "  little 
Eagle  of  the  hills,"  and  in  a  walk  of 
twenty-five  miles  we  saw  in  one  day 
thirty  different  Buzzards,  and  found  them 
nesting  in  places  varying  from  a  bare 
ledge  only  one  hundred  feet  from  the 
summit  of  a  mountain  over  two  thousand 
feet  in  height,  to  the  branches  of  a 
weather-beaten  oak,  within  two  miles  of 
a  busy  town.  Over  this  great  tract  of 
country  the  Buzzards  roam,  as  safe  from 
molestation  as  if  they  were  in  captivity, 
that  is,  as  far  as  they  themselves  are 
concerned,  but  their  nests  are  often  robbed, 
and  a  few  years  ago  a  certain  collector 
did  his  utmost — or  so  it  seemed — to  destroy 
the  Buzzards  by  taking  every  egg  he  came 
across,  but  thanks  to  the  action  taken  by 
a  few  bird-lovers,  he  was  turned  out  of 
the  Principality  and  forbidden  by  several 
landowners  to  again  set  foot  upon  their 
property.  Although  a  few  nests  are  still 


THE  BUZZARD  19 

robbed  each  season,  the  birds  hold  their 
own  well,  and  the  incident  just  recorded 
is  the  only  serious  attack  that  has  been 
made  upon  the  birds  during  the  past 
twelve  years. 

In  this  land  of  vast  moors,  forests, 
and  rugged  cliffs,  the  Buzzard  is  secure, 
and  I  hope  the  day  is  very  far  distant 
when  it  will  be  banished  from  the  hills  it 
loves  so  well. 

THE  COURTING  OF  THE   BUZZARD. 

The  swollen  rivers,  fed  as  they  are  by 
a  thousand  small  streams  coming  down 
from  the  hills,  are  the  result  of  the  last 
of  the  winter  snows.  The  big  patch  on 
the  east  side  of  a  large  crag  had  dis- 
appeared, and  the  Buzzards  knew  that  the 
winter  was  dead.  During  the  past  few 
weeks  they  had  had  rather  a  rough  time, 
owing  to  the  severe  weather.  Right 
through  the  autumn,  and  well  into 
November,  the  young  had  remained  with 


20  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

their  parents,  and  during  the  winter  in 
the  same  locality  as  their  parents,  and 
now  with  the  approach  of  warmer  weather, 
and  above  all  the  ever  lengthening  sun- 
light, the  birds  were  beginning  to  pair. 
At  the  end  of  February  twenty  birds 
gathered  together ;  several  families  were 
here,  and  they  circled  round  and  round 
over  the  summit  of  a  high  cliff.  For 
about  twenty  minutes  they  did  this,  then 
one  and  another  settled  on  the  rocks. 
But  up  they  all  went  again,  this  time 
higher  until  they  were  mere  specks,  and 
it  was  a  wonderful  flight  this.  As  the 
birds  flew  out  from  the  rocks,  they  sailed 
out  with  outspread  wings,  and  uttered 
their  loud  musical  "  mew,"  then  up  into 
the  sky  they  went,  with  hardly  a  visible 
movement  of  their  wings.  Some  went  in 
one  direction,  a  few  in  the  other  ;  some 
sailed  out  over  the  valley,  but  all  climbed 
the  air,  and  seemed  to  get  nearer  to  one 
another  as  they  reached  the  highest  point. 


THE  BUZZARD  21 

With  a  powerful  field-glass  we  could  see 
them  better,  and  it  was  a  very  beautiful 
exercise  they  went  through.  Round  and 
round,  in  and  out,  crossing  and  recrossing, 
the  birds  travelled,  and  half  an  hour  later 
all  slowly  came  down  again,  their  cries 
getting  louder  as  they  reached  the  rocks. 
For  several  days  they  went  through  these 
exercises  ;  sometimes  we  saw  as  many  as 
twenty  birds  together,  while  other  parties 
consisted  of  only  six,  but  when  the  sun 
was  warm  they  went  up,  climbing  the 
air  with  outspread  wings  many  times 
throughout  the  day. 

Before  the  second  week  of  March  was 
over  the  flocks  had  broken  up,  and  the 
birds  went  off  in  pairs.  It  was  not  an 
uncommon  thing  to  see  a  pair  of  birds 
detach  themselves  from  a  flock  when  they 
were  soaring,  and  go  off  into  the  distance. 
Perhaps  these  were  old  birds,  for  they 
pair  for  life — at  least  that  is  as  far  as  we 
can  judge.  I  have  known  one  pair  which 


22  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

it   is   easy   to   distinguish,    owing   to    the 
male    being    very   dark    and    the    female 
remarkably  light,  to  have  nested  for  seven 
years   in   one  valley.     These  pairs  which 
leave  the  flocks  go  straight  to   their  old 
nesting  haunts,  and  set  to  work  to  repair 
the  old  nests.     The  remaining,  and  prob- 
ably younger,   birds   keep   together  for  a 
few  days,  but  eventually  all  have  paired 
off,    and,    as   far  as    we   can  observe,    all 
their  courting  is  done  on  the  wing,  and. 
there  are  no  desperate  fights,  as  so  often 
happens   with  some  of  our  smaller  birds 
when  the  males  are  courting  the  females. 
Some  of  these  younger  birds   are  forced 
to  go  farther  afield  for  breeding  quarters, 
for  the  old  Buzzards,  although  they  have 
allowed  their  young  to  remain  near  them 
all   through   the   winter,   will   not  put  up 
with    any   opposition    in    their    own    im- 
mediate    neighbourhood.      Unfortunately 
most  of  these  younger  birds  wander  great 
distances,  and  it  often  happens  that  they 


THE  BUZZARD  23 

go  to  an  unprotected  locality  and  they 
are  quickly  shot  or  trapped — and  there 
are  few  birds  so  easy  to  trap  as  a 
Buzzard.  In  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
parts  of  central  Wales  the  Buzzard  was 
a  few  years  ago  to  be  found  in  fair 
numbers,  but  a  new  keeper  coming  to 
that  part  trapped  and  shot  in  a  few 
seasons  over  a  dozen  pairs  of  birds. 
That  keeper  has  now  been  removed,  and 
another  has  taken  his  place,  and  as  his 
ground  is  especially  suitable  for  nesting 
purposes,  I  hope  that  some  of  these 
younger  birds  which  leave  the  protected 
area,  will  now  go  over  to  this  spot,  where 
they  are  to  be  protected. 

Without  any  sparring  or  fighting  the 
courting  of  these  birds  is  done,  and  I 
think  they  choose  their  mates  during  the 
time  when  they  flock  together.  However, 
this  is  a  thing  that  must  be  left  to  con- 
jecture ;  but  before  March  is  well  advanced, 
all  the  birds  have  paired,  and  are  setting 


24  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

to   work    to   either   repair   the   old    nests, 
or  build  new  ones. 

THE   BUILDING  OF  THE   NESTS. 

A  perfect  Buzzard's  nest  is  a  very  finely 
constructed  thing,  but  there  are  few  nests 
which  vary  so  much  in  construction. 
Some  are  very  large,  well  made  and 
lined,  while  others  consist  of  a  few  sticks 
and  pieces  of  wool  placed  in  an  untidy 
manner  on  a  ledge.  Each  pair  of  birds 
usually  make  two  nests  in  the  same 
dingle  or  wood  ;  on  one  or  two  occasions 
I  have  found  three. 

As  soon  as  a  pair  of  birds  leave  the 
flock,  they  at  once  commence  repairing 
the  old  nests  or  building  new  ones.  If 
the  weather  has  been  warm,  at  the  end 
of  February  and  early  in  March  they 
begin  to  carry  sticks  to  the  ledge  or  tree 
which  has  been  selected.  Then  if  another 
spell  of  cold  weather  sets  in,  the  nest 
building  is  neglected  ;  but  at  the  end  of 


THE  BUZZARD  25 

March,  and  beginning  of  April,  no  matter 
how  bad  the  weather,  all  the  birds  are 
busy  with  their  nests.  And  a  very  busy 
time  this  is  for  the  Buzzards,  for  a  nest 
of  such  dimensions  needs  a  lot  of  building, 
and  not  only  do  they  repair  the  nest 
which  is  to  be  used,  but  the  other  one 
as  well.  I  have  known  a  pair  of  Buzzards 
to  spend  nearly  the  whole  of  March  in 
building  a  nest  on  a  ledge  which  had  not 
been  occupied  for  several  years,  and  they 
went  so  far  as  to  completely  line  it,  and 
it  was  one  of  the  best  Buzzard's  nests  that 
I  have  ever  seen  ;  and  then  for  no  reason 
that  I  could  discover  the  birds  left  it, 
and  went  right  across  the  valley  and 
made  another  nest  over  there,  in  which 
the  eggs  were  laid. 

Those  birds  which  build  their  nests 
on  the  crags  of  some  of  the  higher 
mountains,  have  to  fly  in  some  cases 
four  or  five  miles  to  a  spot  where  they 
can  collect  sticks,  but  my  experience  has 


26  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

been  that  these  birds  which  build  in  the 
more  bleak  parts  do  not  use  so  many 
sticks  for  their  nests  as  those  which 
build  in  well-wooded  parts.  I  remember 
one  nest  which  was  in  rather  a  remark- 
able place.  We  were  climbing  one  of 
the  highest  mountains  of  central  Wales, 
and  were  within  about  one  hundred  feet 
of  the  summit,  when  a  Buzzard  flew 
from  a  ledge  of  a  rock.  I  thought  by 
her  loud  cries  that  she  had  a  nest,  and 
on  walking  to  the  ledge,  which  could 
easily  be  looked  on  to  from  the  level 
ground,  I  saw  the  eggs.  There  was 
hardly  any  attempt  at  nest  building,  just 
one  or  two  pieces  of  heather,  but  there 
was  a  fair  amount  of  sheep's  wool.  This 
was  not  placed  in  a  very  tidy  position, 
but  just  lying  about  on  the  ledge  in  a 
loose  condition  around  the  eggs.  There 
were  two  eggs  in  the  nest,  and  these 
were  both  addled,  and  we  found  out 
afterwards  that  the  keeper  of  this  moor 


THE  BUZZARD  27 

had  seen  the  bird  sitting  on  the  eggs  in 
this  nest  just  eight  weeks  previously ! 
When  we  found  the  nest  it  was  the 
second  week  in  June,  so  the  bird  must 
have  been  sitting  on  those  eggs  since 
April,  and  although  she  had  been  on  for 
so  long,  very  little  material  could  have 
been  added  during  incubation,  for  it 
was  one  of  the  very  poorest  Buzzard's 
nests  I  have  seen. 

As  a  contrast  to  this,  I  know  a  nest 
in  a  wood  which  is  such  an  enormous 
structure  that  it  is  quite  a  landmark 
when  the  trees  are  bare  of  leaves.  This 
nest  has  been  there  for  ten  years  to  my 
knowledge,  but  being  in  such  a  prominent 
position  has  often  been  robbed.  When 
I  climbed  up  to  it,  I  found  it  to  be  about 
three  feet  in  depth,  and  about  the  same 
distance  across.  It  is  rather  difficult  to 
give  exact  measurements  of  such  a  nest, 
for  some  of  the  small  branches  used 
stick  out  considerably  farther  than  the 


28  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

measurements  given ;  however,  the  size 
mentioned  above  gives  a  fairly  correct 
idea  of  the  more  solid  part  of  the  nest. 

The  typical  nest  of  the  Welsh  Buzzard 
is  constructed,  on  the  outside,  of  stout 
sticks,  smaller  twigs  on  these,  often 
pieces  of  ivy  intertwined  with  them,  and 
coarse  grasses ;  while  the  inside  is  lined 
with  patches  of  sheep's  wool  and  coarse 
mountain  grass.  The  whole  structure  is 
rather  flat,  and  measures  about  two  feet 
four  inches  across. 

In  some  of  the  well-wooded  parts  I 
have  sometimes  found  a  nest  somewhat 
similar  to  those  made  in  the  wilder  parts — 
that  is,  very  few  if  any  sticks,  and  a  few 
pieces  of  dried  grass  tufts  and  sheep's 
wool  as  a  lining.  The  only  theory  that 
I  can  bring  forward  to  account  for  these 
nests  is,  that  they  are  made  by  young 
birds  which  have  not  had  any  previous 
experience  of  nest  building.  It  is  those 
nests  that  have  been  repaired  each  year, 


THE  BUZZARD  29 

and  which  have  not  suffered  much  by 
the  winter  storms,  which  grow  to  such 
a  size,  and  these  incomplete  nests  are 
found  on  ledges  where  nests  have  not 
been  found  previously. 

The  favourite  position  for  the  nest 
seems  to  be  a  ledge  on  a  cliff,  especially 
if  there  is  a  tree  growing  from  this 
rock.  The  nest  is  seldom  in  a  place 
difficult  to  get  to  ;  I  have  only  found  three 
that  it  was  not  possible  to  get  at  easily, 
and  one  of  these  was  the  most  wonder- 
ful Buzzard's  nest  that  I  have  seen — but 
more  about  this  later.  Large  trees  in 
sloping  woods  on  steep  hill-sides  are 
also  favourite  spots,  but  out  of  the  scores 
of  nests  that  I  have  seen,  the  majority 
have  been  on  ledges  supported  by  a  bush 
or  tree.  The  nests  in  this  case  have  been 
built  right  up  against  the  side  of  the 
rock,  and  the  trunk  of  the  tree  or 
branches  of  the  bush  have  afforded  good 
protection  to  the  nest.  On  one  occasion 


30  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

my  friend  Brook  found  a  Buzzard's  nest 
on  the  ground  amongst  heather,  in  just 
the  kind  of  situation  that  the  Merlin 
would  choose.  In  this  instance  there 
was  very  little  attempt  at  nest  construc- 
tion, just  a  few  pieces  of  heather  and 
grasses  and  sheep's  wool.  Unfortunately 
the  eggs  were  taken  by  a  Crow  or  egg- 
thief;  this  was  a  great  pity,  as  full  pre- 
paration had  been  made  to  photograph 
the  bird  feeding  the  young  as  soon  as 
they  left  the  shells,  and  the  peculiar 
situation  in  which  the  nest  was  built 
made  it  an  almost  ideal  place  for  photo- 
graphy. On  several  occasions  our  plans 
for  photography  have  been  frustrated  by 
the  unprincipled  egg-thief.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  this  book  I  mentioned  that 
a  certain  collector  made  a  desperate 
attack  on  the  Welsh  nests.  Unfortu- 
nately, although  he  has  been  banished 
from  Wales,  his  efforts  to  damage  the 
birds  have  not  ceased,  for  only  a  short 


THE  BUZZARD  31 

time  ago  we  found  two  collectors  who 
intended  to  make  a  descent  on  certain 
Buzzards'  nests  with  marked  maps  which 
had  been  supplied  to  them  by  this  man  ! 

THE   LAYING  OF  THE   EGGS. 

After  the  nest  is  completed,  a  whole 
week  will  sometimes  elapse  before  the 
first  egg  is  laid.  In  the  majority  of 
cases,  I  might  say  in  almost  every  case 
that  has  come  under  my  notice,  the 
Buzzard  will  commence  to  sit  immedi- 
ately after  the  first  egg  is  deposited  in 
the  nest.  Three,  four,  or  five  days  later 
the  second  egg  is  laid,  and  the  third 
egg  follows  usually  two  days  after  the 
second.  Incubation  takes  thirty  days. 
Although  I  have  seen  a  very  large  num- 
ber of  Buzzards'  nests  in  Wales,  I  have 
never  yet  seen  a  nest  containing  a  clutch 
of  four  eggs.  I  believe  the  Devonshire 
Buzzards  often  lay  four  eggs,  but  the 
usual  number  to  be  found  in  the  Welsh 


32  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

Buzzard's  nest  is  two.  The  majority  of 
those  I  have  seen  have  not  been  hand- 
somely marked,  but  I  remember  one 
clutch  of  three  which  were  the  very 
finest  eggs  I  have  ever  looked  upon. 

Just  at  the  time  when  the  first  egg  is 
laid,  the  birds  place  in  the  nest  a  few 
green  leaves.  Sometimes  these  are  ivy 
leaves,  at  other  times  the  leaves  of  the 
mountain  ash,  but  all  through  the  time 
of  incubation  fresh  green  leaves  are 
placed  in  the  nest.  I  have  often  won- 
dered why  the  birds  did  this ;  perhaps  it 
is  so  that  the  eggs  shall  have  a  certain 
amount  of  dampness  around  them ;  but 
I  rather  believe  it  is  for  decorative  pur- 
poses, for  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
Buzzard,  like  the  Kite,  likes  to  have  its 
nest  smart.  Five  years  ago,  I  found  a 
nest  on  a  ledge  of  a  cliff,  where  unfor- 
tunately it  was  impossible  to  climb  with 
a  camera,  which  was  decorated  in  a  most 
wonderful  manner.  Long  before  we 


THE  BUZZARD  33 

reached  the  ledge  on  which  the  nest  was 
built  we  noticed  a  large  mass  of  white, 
and  when  we  got  nearer,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  find  that  this  was  a  quantity 
of  flowers  of  the  mountain  ash.  The 
whole  of  the  nest,  and  also  the  ledge 
each  side,  was  simply  covered  with 
blossoms,  and  the  birds  certainly  must 
have  spent  a  lot  of  time  in  plucking 
them  and  placing  them  in  position. 

If  we  should  go  near  the  nest  when  it 
contains  eggs,  the  birds  will  rise  up  in 
the  air  almost  immediately  above  their 
home  and  give  out  their  loud  cry,  pee- 
o-ou,  pee-o-ou,  and  owing  to  this  habit 
they  have  led  many  a  collector  to  their 
nest.  The  loud  cry  can  be  heard  for  a 
great  distance,  and  immediately  the  male 
bird  sees  any  one  approaching  he  will  fly 
above  the  nest  calling,  and  in  a  very 
few  minutes  his  mate  joins  him.  I  have 
known  some  birds  which  become  very 
bold  when  we  go  near  their  nest,  and 
3 


34  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

one  repeatedly  swooped  down  at  my 
head  when  standing  on  the  cliff  above 
its  home.  I  think  this  must  have  been 
the  same  bird  which  attacked  a  friend 
of  mine  in  a  previous  year.  As  he 
stood  by  the  nest,  the  large  bird  rose 
high  above  him,  then  came  down  like  a 
great  feathered  dart  right  at  him,  not 
"  putting  on  the  brake "  until  about  a 
yard  from  his  head.  He  tried  to  drive 
it  away  by  waving  his  stick,  but  time 
after  time  the  bird  attacked  him  in  this 
manner.  I  only  know  one  pair  which 
behave  so  violently  and  it  is  rather 
alarming  to  stand  near  their  nest. 

THE  YOUNG. 

I  mentioned  previously  that  several 
days  elapse  between  the  laying  of  the 
first  and  second  egg,  and  as  the  bird  sits 
as  soon  as  the  first  egg  is  laid,  the  result 
is  that  one  young  bird  arrives  in  the  nest 
some  days  before  its  companions.  During 


YOUNG  BUZZARD  AND  ITS  DEAD  COMPANION. 


[Page  34 


THE  BUZZARD  35 

the  first  fortnight  one  of  the  old  birds 
will  remain  at  the  nest  to  look  after  the 
young,  and  if  disturbed  it  will  behave 
in  the  same  manner  as  when  it  had  eggs 
— that  is,  it  circles  over  its  home  calling 
loudly.  The  instant  the  young  bird 
hears  this  cry  of  alarm,  no  matter  how 
young  it  is,  it  will  squat  low  in  the  nest, 
and  as  long  as  the  old  birds  cry  it  will 
remain  almost  motionless ;  but  when  the 
cries  cease,  if  we  successfully  hide  our- 
selves near  the  nest,  we  notice  what  an 
energetic  little  creature  it  is.  It  stands 
up  in  the  nest,  usually  upon  a  piece  of 
food  that  has  been  placed  there,  and 
with  its  powerful  beak  commences  to  pull 
pieces  off.  I  once  watched  one  of  these 
baby  Buzzards  for  several  hours,  and 
one  incident  amused  me  very  much. 
The  youngster  had  a  rabbit  in  the  nest, 
and  it  had  hold  of  a  rather  tough  piece 
of  skin  and  it  made  the  most  strenuous 
efforts  to  pull  this  off;  for  many  minutes 


36  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

it  tugged  at  it,  pushing  the  body,  to 
which  it  was  attached,  away  with  its  two 
feet,  and  eventually  the  skin  broke,  and 
the  baby  went  tumbling  head  over  tail 
across  the  nest,  but  it  had  succeeded  in 
obtaining  what  it  wanted,  for  when  it 
gained  its  feet  it  swallowed  the  fought- 
for  morsel  with  several  satisfied  gulps ! 

During  the  first  few  nesting  seasons 
that  I  spent  in  the  Buzzard's  home,  I 
found  that  in  nearly  every  nest  only  one 
young  bird  survived.  This  puzzled  me 
very  much,  for  in  these  nests  I  had 
previously  seen  two  young,  but  by  careful 
watching  I  found  out  what  actually  took 
place.  I  believe  that  when  the  young 
disappear  in  this  way,  it  only  takes  place 
in  localities  where  the  parents  have  diffi- 
culty in  finding  sufficient  food  for  their 
young.  When  the  first  youngster  leaves 
the  shell  it  grows  quickly,  as  all  young 
birds  do  just  after  coming  from  the  egg, 
and  when  the  second  bird  arrives,  the 


YOUNG  BUZZARDS  READY  TO  ENTER  THE  WORLD. 


[Page  36 


THE  BUZZARD  37 

first  is  very  much  stronger  than  its 
weaker  brother.  When  the  parents  bring 
food  to  the  nest  at  long  intervals,  this 
strong,  healthy  youngster  runs  forward 
to  meet  them,  and  the  weaker  bird  is 
driven  away  with  pushes  and  pecks,  and 
in  some  cases  prevented  from  taking  food, 
and  the  stronger  bird  obtains  most  of  it. 
Then,  again,  when  the  parents  are  away 
for  any  length  of  time,  the  first  bird 
begins  sparring  at  its  companion,  and  if 
it  should  draw  blood,  then  it  at  once 
commences  to  eat  it.  The  weaker  goes 
to  the  wall,  and  the  stronger  survives. 

I  have  mentioned  this  theory  of  mine 
before,  and  several  well-known  naturalists 
have  stated  in  print  that  it  is  nothing 
more  or  less  than  a  "  fairy  tale."  Well, 
I  suppose  that  these  writers  have  never 
spent  more  than  a  day  at  a  time  in  the 
Buzzard's  haunt,  and  I  know  that  in  the 
case  of  one  of  the  men,  his  only  experi- 
ence with  the  Buzzard  in  a  wild  state 


38  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

has  been  when  he  has  made  a  hurried 
week-end  visit  to  the  haunt  to  take  all 
the  clutches  of  eggs  that  he  could  find ! 
Hardly  a  fit  person  to  criticise  !  The  fact 
remains  that  the  young  do  disappear,  and 
in  over  seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the  nests 
only  one  young  is  reared.  In  support  of 
my  statement,  I  and  a  friend  have 
actually  witnessed  the  performance  take 
place.  We  have  seen  the  young  sparring, 
and  the  two  stronger  birds  in  the  nest 
making  a  meal  of  their  weaker  com- 
panion, and  we  watched  until  the  only 
thing  to  tell  that  a  tragedy  had  taken 
place,  was  a  few  bones  left  in  the  nest. 
It  often  happens  that  one  of  the  young 
of  the  Golden  Eagle  disappears,  also 
with  the  Kite  and  several  other  birds 
of  prey,  and  it  will  be  found  that  in 
nearly  every  case  this  missing  bird 
has  been  devoured  by  its  nest  com- 
panions. 

The    young     Buzzard     has     plenty     of 


THE  BUZZARD  39 

variety  in  its  food.  Rabbits,  moles,  rats, 
mice,  beetles,  and  frogs  are  brought  to 
it.  I  have  spent  many  days  altogether 
at  the  Buzzard's  nest,  well  concealed  from 
view  so  that  the  birds  should  not  see 
me.  At  one  nest,  after  waiting  nine 
hours,  I  thought  that  perhaps  the  best 
time  to  photograph  the  birds  would  be 
in  the  early  morning,  as  I  had  not  had 
much  success  during  the  day.  I  noticed 
that  enough  food  had  been  placed  in  the 
nest  to  last  the  one  youngster  some 
hours,  and  this  had  been  brought  in  the 
early  morning.  So  I  tramped  the  four 
miles  back  to  my  little  inn,  had  a  good 
meal,  and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  was 
once  more  back  in  my  hiding  place.  I 
remained  there  all  through  the  night, 
and  quite  early  in  the  morning,  before 
it  was  light  enough  to  expose  a  plate, 
the  hen  Buzzard  left  the  nest,  where 
she  had  been  brooding  over  her  baby 
all  night,  flew  out  over  the  moor,  and 


40  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

soon  returned  with  a  fine  fat  frog. 
This  was  pulled  to  pieces  and  handed 
to  the  young  bird,  and  when  it  had 
swallowed  the  whole  of  this  rather  sub- 
stantial breakfast,  it  closed  its  eyes  and 
settled  down  for  some  hours,  and  the 
mother,  instead  of  remaining  at  the  nest, 
settled  on  a  rock  just  above  my  head 
behind  me,  where  it  was  quite  impos- 
sible for  me  to  take  a  photograph  of 
her,  and  remained  there,  calling  at  in- 
tervals, until  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  ! 
Hungry  and  tired,  I  crept  out  of  my 
hiding  place,  completely  beaten  by  the 
bird !  That  morning  I  had  to  return 
home,  otherwise  I  should  not  have  given 
up. 

The  young  remain  in  the  nest  for  not 
less  than  five  weeks,  and  even  when 
strong  enough  to  fly,  seem  reluctant  to 
leave.  The  parents  try  to  attract  them 
from  the  nest  with  food,  and  do  their 
utmost  to  induce  them  to  fly.  At  first 


THE  BUZZARD  41 

they  are  very  wary  at  leaving  the  nest, 
and  are  very  clumsy  fliers  at  their  first 
few  attempts,  but  with  loud  calls  the 
parents  induce  them  to  follow  to  the 
open  moors,  where  they  are  often  led  to 
food.  For  many  more  weeks  the  parents 
look  after  them,  warning  them  of  the 
approach  of  enemies  and  showing  them 
how  to  capture  moles  and  young  rabbits. 
The  birds  remain  together  until  the 
autumn,  and  are  occasionally  driven  away 
by  their  parents  to  fresh  fields  and  moors 
where  they  have  to  shift  for  themselves, 
but  in  most  cases  they  remain  in  the 
locality  during  the  winter. 

In  the  winter  months  the  Buzzard  is  a 
scavenger  of  the  hills,  and  if  a  sheep  or 
any  other  creature  should  die,  one  bird 
and  then  another  will  socn  discover  the 
carcass,  for  "  where  the  carcass  is,  there 
will  the  Eagles  be  gathered  together," 
and  it  is  surprising  how  quickly  the 
news  travels  on  the  hills.  One  bird  in 


42  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

soaring  over  will  spot  the  creature ; 
another  Buzzard  a  mile  or  more  away 
sees  this  bird  swooping  down  and  follows  ; 
another  observes  this,  and  so  from  all 
points  of  the  compass  the  birds  come 
up.  On  the  wing  the  Buzzard  is  a 
magnificent  bird,  and  next  to  the  Kite 
is  one  of  the  most  expert  exponents  of 
flying  to  be  seen,  and  he  is  a  welcome 
addition  to  those  wild  and  romantic  hills 
over  which  he  roams. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  KINGFISHER   AND   ITS   HOME 

ID  IGHT  up  in  the  corner  of  a 
beautiful  lake  there  was  a  little 
creek.  The  water  came  in  here  through 
a  thick  bed  of  reeds  ;  straggling  bushes 
stood  up  high  over  the  water ;  one  small 
tree  had  fallen  down  and  some  of  the 
branches  were  submerged,  while  others, 
dead  and  leafless,  were  entwined  with 
strings  of  honeysuckle.  Each  side  of 
the  small  creek  there  was  a  low  bank, 
overgrown  with  grasses  and  nettles. 
Wild  Ducks  were  splashing  in  the  water, 
making  it  muddy  all  around  them.  A 
Little  Grebe  was  every  few  minutes 
giving  out  its  loud  rattling  cry,  and  out 
on  the  lake  the  harsher  notes  of  the 


44  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

Great-crested  Grebe  were  often  heard. 
Coots  and  Moorhens  were  calling, 
Thrushes  were  singing  loudly  in  the 
coppice  behind.  High  up  in  the  sky  a 
Lark  was  trying  to  outrival  the  birds  in 
the  trees,  for  all  around  the  birds  seemed 
to  know  that  the  sunshine  and  the 
warmth  were  the  promise  of  a  beautiful 
springtime  to  come  down  upon  the  earth. 
The  tall  brown  reed-stalks,  relics  of  the 
summer  that  had  gone,  were  bending 
to  the  west  wind,  and  sparkling  ripples 
seemed  to  be  running  across  the  water 
to  join  the  green  meadows  over  beyond. 

Pee-e-e,pu,pee-e!  The  loud  notes  startled 
me,  and  there  coming  down  the  creek  I 
saw  a  flash  of  colour  as  brilliant  as  the 
sun  itself;  another  followed,  and  the  next 
moment  on  a  branch  not  far  from  me 
two  Kingfishers  were  sitting.  Pee-e-e 
one  bird  called  again,  and  almost  im- 
mediately flew  down  to  the  bank  and 
entered  a  small  hole.  While  she  was 


THE  KINGFISHER  AND  ITS  HOME    45 

down  there  her  mate  kept  guard ;  he 
preened  his  wonderful  plumage,  and  I 
thought  that  I  had  never  seen  such  a 
blaze  of  glorious  green  and  blue  as  that 
which  covered  his  little  body. 

The  hen  was  busy  on  the  bank,  she 
was  building  her  nest.  For  this  she 
required  no  material ;  she  just  pecked  at 
the  bank  with  her  long  beak,  and  as  the 
earth  fell  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
hole  she  was  boring  she  scratched  it  out 
behind  her  with  her  feet,  and  a  little 
stream  of  fine  earth  was  tumbling  down. 
For  a  long  time  she  worked  at  this ; 
sometimes  her  mate  would  help,  and 
once  she  flew  out  from  the  hole,  settled 
on  a  branch,  opened  her  beak  wide  and 
made  a  low  plaintive  note.  He  under- 
stood, and  a  very  few  minutes  passed 
before  the  loud  musical  but  shrill  note 
pee-e-e  told  her  that  he  had  returned. 
She  flew  straight  to  him,  and  it  was 
pretty  to  see  him  hand  her  a  fish.  For 


46  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

a  moment  or  two  they  chattered  on  the 
branch,  and  they  might  have  remained 
there  longer  if  an  inquisitive  Blackbird 
with  his  loud  cry  of  alarm  had  not  told 
them  to  fly.  All  the  birds  know  the 
Blackbird's  cry,  and  few  wait  to  actually 
see  the  danger ;  they  are  off  as  soon  as 
they  hear  the  call. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  the  hole  was 
finished,  and  it  was  impossible  to  see 
what  went  on  inside ;  but  while  the  hen 
was  sitting  I  often  went  into  the  hiding 
place  built  near,  and  I  saw  some  won- 
derfully pretty  incidents  in  the  life  of 
these  birds.  Sometimes  I  had  to  wait 
two  hours  before  I  saw  or  heard  a  sign 
of  either  of  the  Kingfishers.  On  one  of 
my  waits,  after  nearly  two  hours  had 
gone  by,  the  hen  came  out  of  the 
hole,  settled  on  a  small  branch  outside, 
waited  there  for  a  very  short  time 
and  popped  back.  But  when  she  heard 
her  mate  arriving  she  often  came  out, 


OUTSIDE  HER  NESTING  HOLE. 


[Page  46 


THE  KINGFISHER  AND  ITS  HOME    47 

and  I  liked  to  watch  them  then.  His 
loud  call  could  be  heard  long  before  he 
reached  the  branches  above  the  nest,  and 
with  him  he  always  brought  a  nice  fish. 
She  flew  straight  to  him,  opened  her  beak, 
and  fluttered  her  wings  while  he  very 
beautifully  handed  her  the  food.  With 
one  or  two  big  gulps  this  disappeared, 
she  shook  all  her  feathers,  and  went  back 
to  her  duties  in  that  dark,  damp  hole. 
Once  or  twice  when  he  was  away  a 
long  time,  she  came  out  and  caught 
fish  for  herself;  no  doubt  she  got  tired 
of  waiting,  for  at  times  it  seemed  to  me 
that  he  must  have  almost  forgotten  that 
he  had  a  hungry  mate  waiting  for  a 
meal. 

A  favourite  place  for  the  male  bird 
to  go  to  was  a  small  boathouse  on  the 
lake.  Thousands  of  small  fish  congre- 
gated there,  and  the  bird  would  sit  on 
the  edge  of  the  boat  and  watch  them. 
He  caught  more  than  he  could  eat,  for 


48  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

sometimes  he  captured  a  fish  too  large 
to  swallow.  When  a  large  one  like  this 
was  taken,  he  would  carry  it  to  the 
edge  of  the  boat,  and  holding  the  fish 
by  its  tail,  would  bring  the  fish's  head 
down  with  loud  thuds  on  to  his  wood 
perch.  When  the  fish  was  stunned  he 
tossed  it  in  the  air,  caught  it  again  head 
first  and  made  great  efforts  to  swallow 
it ;  but  the  fish  was  too  large  to  go 
down,  and  after  two  or  three  attempts 
he  tossed  it  into  the  boat,  and  again 
looked  down,  into  the  water.  I  liked  to 
see  him  when  he  caught  a  fish  which 
he  could  just  -manage  to  swallow.  It 
looked  as  if  he  would  choke,  but  by 
opening  and  shutting  his  beak,  and 
giving  a  few  violent  gulps,  the  fish  at 
last  disappeared  down  his  throat.  Such 
an  occasion  required  a  lengthy  nap. 
All  his  feathers  were  ruffled,  and  he 
looked  as  if  he  was  passing  through  the 
throes  of  violent*  indigestion  ;  but  this 


THE  KINGFISHER  AND  ITS  HOME    49 

seemed  to  pass  off,  and  his  long  beak  was 
placed  round  on  to  his  back,  his  bright 
eyes  were  closed,  and  he  slept  while  the 
fish  digested  !  I  think  it  must  have  been 
at  such  times  that  he  forgot  that  his  mate 
was  hungry.  For  twenty  minutes  he 
would  remain  a  ball  of  brilliant,  ruffled 
feathers,  sometimes  longer,  and,  strange 
to  say,  as  soon  as  he  woke,  and  had 
preened  his  plumage,  he  was  ready  for 
another  large  fish !  Sometimes  when  I 
went  into  the  boathouse  to  take  the 
boat  out,  I  found  three  or  four  fishes 
lying  in  the  boat  which  he  had  left 
there,  showing  that  he  had  been  busy. 

When  evening  came  the  hen  would 
leave  her  nest  for  a  spell,  and  he  went 
inside,  but  she  did  not  like  to  leave 
her  eggs  for  long.  When  she  returned 
he  settled  on  a  sheltered  branch  over 
the  creek.  While  the  Thrushes  were 
singing  their  best  songs,  and  the  noisy 
Starlings  were  fighting  for  the  best 


50  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

perches  for  the  night,  and  the  small 
brown  Wren  in  the  ivy-covered  tree  was 
telling  all  his  little  world  with  his  big 
song,  that  he  intended  to  make  that  his 
home  for  the  spring,  the  Kingfisher, 
huddled  up  like  a  ball  on  a  perch,  waited 
for  the  morning. 

When  the  sun  rose  he  worked  really 
hard,  and  brought  to  his  sitting  mate 
several  fish,  but  each  time  he  returned 
he  found  her  sitting  outside  the  hole. 
To  his  surprise  she  flew  away  instead  of 
going  inside,  and  called  to  him  to  follow, 
and  she  took  him,  not  to  the  boathouse, 
where  the  fish  were  a  fair  size,  but  to 
a  little  stream,  where  the  fish  were 
very  small.  Very  quickly  she  caught 
one,  and  flew  back  to  the  nest  with 
this  in  her  beak.  Soon  she  was  back, 
another  was  caught,  and  I  think  he 
understood,  for  about  an  hour  later  he 
was  helping  her  to  carry  these  small 
fish  to  the  young  birds  in  the  hole. 


WATCHING  AND  WAITING. 


(rage  50 


THE  KINGFISHER  AND  ITS  HOME     51 

If  we  could  have   penetrated  the   dark- 
ness  and   seen    the   birds    feeding    their 
young,  we  should  have  noticed   how  the 
parent   birds    held   the   fish.     Instead    of 
putting  the  fish  down  the  babies'  throats 
in   a   haphazard  manner,  we  should  have 
seen  how  the    bird  worked  the  little   fish 
about    in    its    beak    until  it   was    holding 
it     in     such     a     position    that     it     was 
able    to   place   the   fish    head    first   down 
the   young   bird's  throat.     If  the   parents 
had     attempted    to    give    the    fish    to    a 
young     bird     tail    first,    it     would     have 
choked  it,  or  stuck  in   its   throat,  and  so 
the  parents  always  hand  the  fish  to  their 
babies  head  first.     It   is   easy  to  tell,   by 
the  size  of  the  fish  taken   into   the   hole, 
how    the    young    are    progressing.     The 
first  week   very   small   fish   are  captured, 
the   second   week   fish   about    two   inches 
long   are   taken  in,   and   the    third   week 
fish   three    inches    in    length    are    given 
to    the   baby    Kingfishers.     In    the    early 


52  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

morning  the  two  parents  work  hard, 
and  capture  fish  at  intervals  of  five  or 
six  minutes  ;  but  as  the  middle  of  the 
day  approaches  they  slacken  in  their 
work,  and  the  male  bird  will  sit  for 
a  long  time  on  a  branch  over  the  nest. 
This  day,  the  third  of  June,  I  have 
been  watching  them  take  food  to  the 
young,  and  I  noticed,  as  I  have  done 
on  previous  occasions,  that  between 
ten-thirty  and  twelve  o'clock  the  birds 
do  not  bring  many  fish  to  their  young. 
The  male  bird,  looking  resplendent  in 
his  glorious  plumage,  sat  on  the  branch 
near  the  nest ;  his  feathers  were  ruffled, 
and  he  was  huddled  up  on  the  branch 
looking  as  if  he  was  thoroughly  tired. 
The  hen  was  sitting  near  him,  with  a 
fish  in  her  beak,  but  she  did  not  seem  in 
any  hurry  to  take  this  to  the  young,  and 
eventually  she  flew  away  without  taking 
it  to  them.  By  the  time  another  hour 
had  gone  by  both  birds  were  busy  again, 


WAITING  FOR  A  FISH. 


[Page  52 


THE  KINGFISHER   AND  ITS  HOME     53 

and  it  was  surprising  what  a  number  of 
large  fish  the  hungry  young  devoured. 
The  entrance  hole  was  small,  just  large 
enough  to  admit  the  bird  comfortably, 
and  when  one  entered  it  was  only  inside 
about  twelve  seconds,  and  always  came 
out  tail  first !  No  doubt  the  space 
occupied  by  the  nest  was  filled  with  the 
quickly  growing  young,  and  when  they 
saw  their  parent  arriving  with  a  fish 
there  was  a  scuffle  to  get  it,  for  a  great 
noise  went  on  each  time  one  of  the  birds 
entered.  There  was  evidently  no  room 
in  the  hole  for  the  bird  to  turn,  and 
so  it  had  to  back  out ;  it  certainly  looked 
very  curious  to  see  the  birds  leaving 
like  this.  When  the  young  were  small 
they  came  out  beak  first,  showing  that 
they  had  room  to  turn  round. 

About  a  month  after  they  had  left 
their  shells,  the  five  young  came  out 
into  the  sunlight,  and  what  a  contrast  it 
must  have  all  been  to  the  damp,  dark 


54  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

hole    in    which     they    had    been    reared ! 
Their     wings    were    weak    at    first,    and 
they    were    just    able     to    flutter    to     a 
branch    near,   and    on    that  they   clung  ; 
one   tumbled   into   the  water,  but  it    was 
able  to  get  out,  and  it  joined  its  brothers 
above.      What     excitement     there     was ! 
The    parents    called    loudly,    flew    round 
and   about    them,     and    tried    to    attract 
them  to  the    thicker  bushes    lower  down. 
But    the    baby    birds    sat    there    uncon- 
cerned,    looking    around     them     at     the 
wonderful     place     they    had    come    into. 
Every  time  the  parents   came  near  them, 
six   big   beaks   were  opened   wide,  and   a 
whole  chorus   of   cries    accompanied    this 
performance.     For    three    or     four     days 
the  parents  fed  them,  then  they  attracted 
them   out   to   the   small   stream   that  ran 
out  of  the  lake,  for  here  the   small   fish 
were     found.      Their     first    attempts     at 
capturing   fish   were   not   very  successful, 
but  after  they  had  watched  their  parents 


HER  PLUMAGE  RUFFLED  BY  THE  WIND. 


[Page  54 


THE  KINGFISHER  AND  ITS  HOME     55 

dive    so   successfully,    they   were   able   to 
capture  fish  for  themselves. 

All  through  the  summer  they  kept  on 
the  lake.  I  saw  them  last  one  calm 
autumn  evening.  The  trees  were  golden, 
and  the  water  too,  for  the  sun  seemed 
to  have  caught  up  the  colour  of  the 
yellow  corn,  and  as  it  sank  down  it 
threw  back  to  the  earth  all  of  this  glory. 
Swallows  were  skimming  over  the  silent 
surface  of  the  lake ;  Wild  Ducks  and 
half  a  dozen  Grebes  swimming  around 
made  ripple  wavelets  which  made  the 
water  a  deeper  gold.  There  was  no 
music  in  the  air,  for  the  birds  do 
not  give  out  their  notes  to  a  summer 
that  is  dying,  no  matter  how  beautiful 
those  last  days  may  be,  but  all  around 
there  was  a  great  stillness ;  so  silent 
was  it  all,  that  one  could  hear  the  snap 
of  a  Swallow's  beak  as  it  captured  its 
prey.  The  harsh  quack-quack  of  the 
Mallards  and  the  deeper  kuurk-kuurk  of 


56  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

the  Tufted  Ducks  seemed  out  of  place 
in  such  a  scene  of  peace:  The  glory 
of  the  spring  had  gone,  summer  had 
passed,  and  now  Nature  was  just  showing 
what  she  could  do,  and  the  picture 
she  had  painted  in  tints  of  golden  red 
was  wonderfully  fair.  From  the  reeds 
near  me,  right  away  to  the  distant 
bank,  the  sinking  sun  made  a  path  of 
gold,  sparkling  with  tiny  ripples  ;  it  was 
out  into  this  dazzling  water-lane  that 
I  saw  the  Kingfishers  go.  Just  a  flash, 
and  then  another  of  blue  more  brilliant 
than  the  April  sky,  and  another  flash 
of  green  that  rivalled  the  green  of  a 
bright  May  morning,  and  the  birds  were 
gone.  The  next  time  I  went  down  to 
the  lake  I  loved  so  well  I  found  that 
my  birds  had  been  driven  away  by  their 
parents,  to  seek  fresh  hunting-grounds  ; 
but  all  through  the  winter  the  two  old 
birds  fished  in  their  favourite  haunts, 
and  the  colour  of  their  gay  plumage,  as 


THE  KINGFISHER  AND  ITS  HOME     57 

they  flew  in  the  winter  sun,  seemed  like 
a  little  touch  of  the  colours  of  spring, 
which  had  remained  behind  to  brighten 
the  dull  winter  days. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   BIRDS   OF   A   NORTHERN   LOCH 

"  I  "HE  exact  whereabouts  of  the  loch 
may  remain  a  secret.  Some  natural- 
ists and  a  few  fishermen  who  go  there 
for  the  excellent  trout  fishing  may 
recognize  it  from  my  description,  but 
the  egg-collector,  who  in  most  cases  does 
not  care  a  straw  for  the  welfare  of  the 
birds,  is  not  wanted  there,  and  if  he  was 
to  go,  would,  as  has  happened  before, 
receive  short  shift  from  the  sturdy 
keepers. 

It  is  a  large  loch  on  a  lonely  and  wild 
island,  away  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
setting  sun,  beyond  the  rugged  western 
mountains  of  Scotland.  I  said  it  was  a 
large  loch,  but  when  the  visitor  sees  it 


THE  BIRDS   OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH     59 

for  the  first  time  he  will  exclaim,  Is  this 
all  ?     For    there    before   him    is    a    small 
piece   of  water,  with  high  heather   banks 
all    round    it ;     for    about    two    hundred 
yards    you    can    see    water,    and    beyond 
that   just   the    black   heather-walls.      You 
step    into    the     small     rowing-boat,    and 
when    you    have    gone   a   short    distance 
you   see   that    the    loch    branches   out   in 
many   water    passages    that    were    hidden 
from  your  view  when   you  started  in  the 
boat.     Presently  you  come  to  a  big  open 
tract  of  water,  with  dozens  of  islands  upon 
it,    some    rock-covered    and    bare,    others 
one   mass    of  tall    heather,    yet    others    a 
brilliant   emerald   green    with    the   young 
grass   all   over   their    surface.     Some   are 
covered  with  brambles  and  beautiful  ferns, 
and  the  water  between  all  these   islets   is 
a  blue  that  keeps  company  with   the   sky 
above.     But   what   a   bleak   wild  place   it 
all    is !     Not    a   bush    or    tree    in    sight, 
nothing     taller     than     the    heather,     and 


60  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

what  strikes  you  most  is  the  utter  lone- 
liness and  silence  of  the  big  moors  all 
around.  You  realize  what  this  silence 
is  best  when  you  are  tucked  away  in  a 
shelter  waiting  for  a  bird  to  come  to  the 
camera.  I  remember  one  day  I  was 
waiting  to  photograph  the  Grey-lag  Goose  ; 
there  was  no  wind,  and  the  silence  was 
intense.  It  would  have  been  a  relief  to 
have  heard  a  bird's  song,  or  the  tramp- 
ing of  a  horse  on  the  distant  road,  but 
all  through  that  day  hardly  a  sound 
greeted  me,  except  those  strange  noises 
that  one  hears  in  those  silent  spots, 
sounds  that  one  cannot  account  for.  At 
intervals  I  heard  a  noise  close  to  me 
just  like  a  single  clap  of  the  hands,  and 
other  weird  and  unaccountable  noises 
one  occasionally  hears.  In  some  parts 
the  natives  put  them  down  to  "  the  little 
folk" — the  fairies,  and  I  have  known 
some  that  hardly  like  to  talk  about  them, 
for  surely  if  there  are  ghosts  on  this 


GREY-LAG  GOOSE  AT  REST. 


LOOKING  AT   HER    EGGS. 


[Page  60 


THE  BIRDS   OF  A    NORTHERN  LOCH     61 

earth,  some  of  those  weird,  wild,  and 
altogether  lonely  haunts  would  be  ideal 
hunting-grounds  for  them ! 

But  as  we  pass  through  the  arms  of 
water  we  begin  to  realize  what  a  large 
loch  this  is.  After  leaving  one  large  open 
space  of  water,  and  going  through  a 
narrow  channel,  we  come  to  yet  another, 
and  here  are  many  more  islands,  and 
from  some  of  these  flocks  of  Gulls  rise. 
The  Common  Gull  nests  here,  but,  unlike 
its  name,  it  is  anything  but  a  common 
nesting  species.  Lesser  Black-backed 
Gulls,  and  that  fine  bird  the  Greater 
Black-backed  Gull,  also  build  their  nests 
on  these  islands.  There  are  over  three 
hundred  and  fifty  islands  on  the  loch,  and 
yet  it  is  hardly  possible  to  see  more  than 
a  dozen  from  any  one  spot,  and  this  gives 
one  a  good  idea  of  how  the  water  twists 
and  turns  about.  The  whole  of  the  island 
on  which  we  find  this  loch  is  one  mass 
of  similar  lochs,  but  not  so  large,  and 


62  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

one  of  the  greatest  mistakes  that  a 
visitor  can  make  is  to  try  to  take  a 
short  cut  across  the  moor.  A  fisherman 
was  out  on  one  of  the  lochs,  and  not 
having  good  sport  he  intimated  to  his 
gillie  that  he  would  get  out  of  the  boat 
and  go  across  to  the  hotel  which  he 
could  see  a  few  hundred  yards  away. 
To  his  surprise,  he  learnt  from  the  gillie 
that  he  would  have  to  walk  seventeen 
miles  to  reach  the  hotel  in  that  direction ! 
To  really  appreciate  this  wonderful 
island,  we  should  climb  to  the  top  of 
the  hill  on  the  southern  side,  from  the 
summit  of  which  a  view  of  the  whole 
island  is  obtained.  The  panorama 
before  you  is  remarkable  ;  it  is  just  one 
mass  of  water  and  land  all  mixed  up 
together  in  one  inextricable  maze. 

Such  a  wild  and  little  known  region 
is  a  fine  hunting-ground  for  the  bird 
photographer,  for  here  some  of  the 
rarest  birds  are  found.  On  one  heather- 


THE  BIRDS   OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH     63 

covered  island  we  found  three  nests  of 
the  Grey-lag  Goose,  and  at  one  of  these 
we  built  a  hiding  place  for  myself  and 
the  camera.  Fortunately  there  is  plenty 
of  heather,  and  there  are  few  things 
that  make  a  better  hiding  place  than 
this.  The  following  day  I  went  inside 
my  small  heather  tent,  and  I  did  not 
have  to  wait  more  than  two  hours  before 
I  saw  the  Goose  stalking  slowly  through 
the  heather  towards  her  nest.  Knowing 
what  a  shy  bird  the  Wild  Goose  is,  I 
did  not  attempt  to  take  a  photograph 
until  she  had  settled  down  and  was 
thoroughly  at  her  ease.  Even  then  I 
had  to  be  very  careful  not  to  make  a 
sound,  for  I  know  by  experience  how 
the  slightest  sound  will  scare  her.  When 
I  had  secured  a  good  series  of  bioscope 
pictures  of  her  I  had  some  lunch,  and  a 
very  slight  rustle  of  the  paper  in  which 
this  was  wrapped  had  the  effect  of 
scaring  my  bird  away.  I  waited  another 


64  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

two  hours  but  she  did  not  return,  and 
although  I  spent  another  day  in  trying 
to  get  some  more  photographs  of  her, 
I  was  not  able  to  do  so. 

I  built  a  hiding  place  near  one  of  the 
other  nests,  a  shelter  that  harmonized 
exactly  with  the  surroundings,  and  I 
tried  to  get  pictures  here,  but  was 
not  successful.  I  could  not  understand 
the  Geese  at  this  nest.  They  both 
returned  almost  to  the  nest,  but  the 
hen  just  sat  on  the  ground,  picked  up 
small  pieces  of  grass  and  placed  these 
around  her  breast,  just  as  if  she  was  on 
her  nest,  and  there  she  sat  for  four  solid 
hours,  while  her  mate  stood  by  her  side. 
A  few  days  later  I  tried  this  nest  again, 
and  when  I  reached  it  with  the  keeper  we 
found  that  it  contained  three  fine  young 
Goslings,  and  the  fourth  was  just  leav- 
ing its  shell.  I  thought  that  here  was 
a  great  chance  to  secure  photographs, 
for  she  would  surely  soon  return  to  her 


THE  BIRDS  OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH    65 

young.  Very  soon  after  the  keeper  left 
I  saw  a  movement  by  the  nest,  and 
the  next  moment  realized  what  had 
happened.  A  Hooded  Crow,  one  of  the 
worst  thieves  in  the  whole  of  Bird- 
land,  had  swooped  down  and  carried  one 
of  the  Goslings  away.  I  waited  for  its 
return,  and  sure  enough  in  a  few  minutes 
it  came  down  again.  I  shouted  at  it  and 
tried  to  drive  it  away,  but  I  was  too  late 
and  another  Gosling  had  been  carried 
away  I  For  some  time  I  did  not  see  it 
again,  and  I  thought  that  my  shouting 
had  frightened  it  away  ;  but  such  was  not 
the  case,  for  presently  I  heard  a  loud  cry 
from  the  Geese,  and  above  me  there  was 
a  great  fluttering  of  wings,  and  although 
the  two  large  birds  were  trying  to  drive  the 
robber  away,  he  was  too  smart  for  them, 
and  he  swooped  down  and  in  a  flash  had 
carried  away  the  third  Gosling.  It  was 
disappointing  to  me,  for  I  knew  I  should 
not  have  another  opportunity  to  photo- 


66  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

graph  the  Goose,   for  all  the  other   nests 
had  hatched  out. 

The  Hooded  Crow  is  a  far  worse  robber 
than  the  Carrion  Crow,  and  he  is  about 
as  bad  a  thief  as  one  would  wish  to  meet 
with.  The  pair  of  Hooded  Crows  on 
this  loch  were  doing  a  great  amount  of 
harm  to  the  other  birds,  and  the  keeper 
would  have  shot  them  before,  but  I 
wanted  to  photograph  them  at  the  nest. 
This  was  built  on  the  ground  amongst 
tall  heather,  and  it  contained  four  young. 
I  waited  a  whole  day  with  my  bioscope, 
but  the  bird  only  came  back  to  the  nest 
three  times,  and  as  it  only  waited  a 
moment  each  time  it  did  not  give  me  an 
opportunity  to  get  a  series  of  pictures. 
The  moment  I  began  to  turn  the  handle 
of  the  camera  it  was  startled  by  the 
very  slight  noise  and  flew  away.  The 
Hooded  Crow  is  the  only  bird  that  has 
ever  been  startled  by  the  noise  of  my 
bioscope.  Most  birds  will  quickly  jump 


THE  BIRDS  OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH    67 

up  and  leave  if  they  hear  even  a  slight 
click,  but  they  are  not  afraid  of  the 
smooth  muffled  noise  made  by  the 
bioscope. 

The  same  day  that  these  Hooded 
Crows  took  the  Goslings,  we  saw  another 
remarkable  incident  which  proves  how 
desperate  these  robber  birds  are.  There 
were  three  Crows  harassing  the  Gulls. 
They  made  many  attempts  to  get  the 
eggs,  but  all  the  time  the  Gulls  were 
trying  to  drive  them  away.  One  Gull,  a 
Herring  Gull,  sat  tight  on  its  nest ;  the 
robbers  endeavoured  hard  to  get  her 
eggs,  but  each  time  they  came  near  her 
she  pecked  at  them  with  her  big  beak. 
However,  the  Crows  were  determined  to 
get  a  meal,  and  two  of  the  birds  attacked 
the  Gull,  one  each  side,  and  they  caught 
hold  of  her  wings  and  actually  pulled 
her  from  the  nest !  Holding  her  wings 
so  that  she  could  not  fly,  making  her 
practically  helpless,  the  two  birds  dragged 


68  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

her  away,  and  the  third  Crow  broke  open 
the  three  large  eggs,  and  the  birds  secured 
their  meal. 

The   Herring    Gujl    itself    is    no   mean 
robber,   and    I    knew    a    case   where    one 
tried  to  take  a  Duckling.     It  kept  swoop- 
ing down  towards  the  baby  birds,  and  each 
time  the  mother    Duck  jumped  at  it  and 
tried  to  drive  it  away.     At  last,  however, 
it  succeeded  in  taking  one  of  the  young 
birds  and  carried  it  away  in  its  beak  ;  but 
before  it  had  gone  many  yards  a  Hooded 
Crow,  which  had  been   watching  the  per- 
formance, swooped   down    upon    the    Gull 
and    tried   to   make   it   drop    its    captive. 
The   Gull    flew    on    as    fast    as    possible, 
but   the  angry  Crow  followed    faster,  and 
catching  it  up,  made  a  grab  at  the  Gull's 
tail  and  succeeded  in  pulling  out  a  feather ! 
This  had   the   effect  of  making   the   Gull 
drop   the   Duckling,  and   the   Crow   went 
back  and  picked  it  up. 
Two   days    after    the    Crow    stole    the 


THE  BIRDS   OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH    69 

Goslings  it  paid  the  penalty  ;  the  keeper 
stalked  up  to  the  nest,  and  when  he  was 
near  it  one  of  the  Crows  flew  over  and 
was  immediately  shot.  This  proved  to 
be  the  male.  The  following  day  the 
keeper  went  to  the  Crow's  nest  again,  and 
found  that  the  female  had  in  one  short  day 
found  another  mate ;  she  had  mated  up 
with  a  Carrion  Crow  this  time,  and  she 
and  her  new  mate  were  both  shot  near  the 
nest.  Wild  Nature  seems  to  be  one  long 
story  of  one  creature  robbing  another,  for 
it  was  discovered  that  the  young  Crows 
had  disappeared  from  the  nest,  and  no 
doubt  a  rat  had  taken  them  during  the 
Crows'  absence.  Anyway,  I  was  glad  to 
learn  of  the  death  of  the  Crows,  for  they 
were  doing  a  vast  amount  of  harm 
amongst  the  rare  birds  of  that  loch. 

Not  very  far  from  the  island  on  which 
I  photographed  the  Goose,  we  found  the 
two  large  eggs  of  the  Black-throated  Diver. 
As  a  rule  not  much  attempt  is  made  at 


70  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

nest  building  by  this  bird,  just  a  depres- 
sion by  the  water's  edge  suffices,  but  the 
birds  belonging  to  these  eggs  had  made 
quite  a  substantial  nest.  It  was  on  a 
sloping  bank  about  eighteen  inches  above 
the  water,  and  there  was  a  well-worn 
passage  from  the  nest  to  the  water.  On 
the  land  the  Black-throated  Diver  has 
difficulty  in  getting  about,  and  for  that 
reason  always  lays  its  eggs  close  to  the 
water's  edge.  The  eggs  were  large,  about 
three  inches  in  length,  and  were  a  dull 
olive-brown  colour,  and  much  smothered 
with  mud.  The  Diver  usually  builds  its 
nest  on  quite  small  islands,  but  this  was 
on  one  of  the  largest  of  the  numerous 
islands.  The  keeper  and  I  built  a  very 
good  hiding  place  about  thirty-five  feet 
from  the  nest,  and  covered  this  over  with 
slabs  of  grass,  and  with  the  exception 
of  the  small  space  left  for  the  lens  it  har- 
monized exactly  with  the  surroundings. 
Far  out  on  the  loch  we  could  see  the  two 


THE  BIRDS   OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH     71 

Divers  watching  us,  but  after  I  got  inside 
and  the  keeper  went  away  I  could  see  the 
hen  bird  swimming  towards  me.  She 
came  right  up  to  my  shelter,  and  for  nearly 
two  hours  swam  about  just  outside.  She 
was  a  little  suspicious  at  the  different 
aspect  of  the  ground  where  I  was  hiding. 
A  tragedy  nearly  happened  at  this  nest, 
and  again  it  was  the  Hooded  Crow.  The 
Diver  made  a  dash  towards  her  nest,  and 
gave  out  a  loud  call,  and  at  the  same 
moment  I  saw  the  Crow  swooping  down 
towards  the  eggs.  I  did  not  hesitate  a 
moment,  but  gave  a  shout  that  I  thought 
would  surely  drive  away  the  Diver  for  the 
rest  of  the  day,  but  I  thought  it  better  to 
do  this  than  lose  the  two  precious  eggs. 
The  Crow  heard  me,  and  at  the  same 
moment  some  Gulls  swooped  down  at  the 
robber,  the  Diver  called  again,  and  in  the 
general  confusion  the  Crow  was  driven 
away,  and  the  Diver,  fortunately,  was  not 
alarmed  at  my  shout.  For  a  little  while 


72  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

longer  she  swam  about,  then  heading 
towards  the  nest,  left  the  water  and 
reached  her  eggs.  I  at  once  began  to  get 
living  records  of  her  every  movement  with 
my  bioscope,  and  when  she  had  been  on 
her  eggs  for  nearly  an  hour  I  made  a  slight 
noise  and  she  left.  By  turning  my  camera 
round  I  was  able  to  get  some  pictures  of 
her  swimming  on  the  water,  but  she  soon 
returned  to  her  eggs,  and  I  secured  many 
more  pictures  of  her  with  both  cameras. 

The  Black-throated  Diver  is  a  marvel- 
lous swimmer.  What  interested  me  most 
was  the  clever  way  she  was  able  to  sub- 
merge herself.  This  was  quite  different 
to  ordinary  diving.  When  the  bird  dives 
it  puts  its  head  down  and  the  body 
follows,  but  I  noticed  that  when  it  left 
its  nest,  it  kept  very  low  while  travelling 
along  the  land,  entered  the  water  with 
as  little  of  its  head  and  body  showing  as 
possible,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  clear  of 
the  land  it  just  floated  on  the  water  with 


THE  BIRDS   OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH    73 

its  long  neck  stretched  out  flat  on  the 
surface.  While  in  this  position  it  quickly 
sank  under  the  surface,  and  hardly  left 
a  ripple  behind.  It  was  a  clever  way 
of  disappearing,  and  I  thought  showed 
remarkable  cuteness,  for  from  a  short 
distance  it  would  have  been  almost  im- 
possible for  any  one  to  have  seen  the  bird 
after  it  reached  the  water. 

Before  the  birds  nest,  the  males  are 
seen  flying  rapidly  over  the  land  and 
water,  high  up,  and  they  repeatedly  call 
kop-op-op-op-op ,  kop-op-op-op-op .  This  is 
a  very  loud  call,  and  can  be  heard  for 
a  great  distance.  The  hens  down  on  the 
water  answer  with  ker-o-war,  ker-o-war, 
a  harsh  cry  something  like  the  call  of 
the  Great-crested  Grebe.  When  the  males 
hear  the  answer,  they  swoop  down  in  a 
rapid  glide  to  the  water.  On  this  large 
loch  there  were  only  two  pairs  of  Black- 
throated  Divers,  and  we  felt  very  pleased 
when,  after  a  long  search,  we  found  the 


74  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

nest.  Serious  bird-photography  is  quite 
one  of  the  best  sports.  Perhaps  the  chief 
charm  of  most  sports  is  the  glorious 
uncertainty  of  it,  and  the  bird-photog- 
rapher has  as  many  ups  and  downs  as 
any  one.  Sometimes  you  will  work  hard 
for  days  and  have  nothing  but  disappoint- 
ments, but  when  you  have  a  day  like 
that  I  spent  in  the  Divers'  haunt,  you 
feel  well  repaid  for  all  your  trouble. 
Most  of  the  time  I  was  on  this  loch,  a 
fortnight  in  all,  a  gale  was  blowing  from 
the  west,  and  it  made  work  difficult,  but 
on  one  occasion  it  was  blowing  with 
such  force  that  it  was  difficult  to  stand 
up  against  it.  There  was  one  day,  how- 
ever, that  I  saw  it  at  its  best,  and  a 
Scottish  loch  seen  under  the  best  con- 
ditions is  a  scene  worth  remembering. 
It  is  so  unlike  the  landscapes  of  the 
south,  and  I  remember  thinking,  as  I 
rested  on  one  of  the  heather-covered 
islands,  what  a  contrast  it  all  was  to  the 


THE  BIRDS   OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH     75 

meadows  and  woods  of  old  England. 
One  missed  the  songs  of  numerous  birds, 
but  what  I  missed  more  than  anything 
was  the  trees.  Some  years  ago  I  spent 
nearly  five  weeks  on  one  of  these  bleak 
islands  ;  when  I  travelled  south  again, 
and  stood  under  the  shade  of  the  green 
trees,  they  seemed  the  most  beautiful 
things  I  had  ever  looked  upon.  Some 
of  the  natives  of  these  islands  live  their 
whole  lives  without  even  knowing  what 
a  tree  is  like,  for  the  tallest  thing  that 
grows  is  the  rough  heather.  Over  some 
of  the  grassy  islands  numerous  Gulls 
were  soaring,  and  their  white  wings 
seemed  a  beautiful  contrast  to  the  blue 
above  and  below.  Even  the  hills  had 
caught  up  the  prevailing  blue,  and  their 
rugged  rocks  and  grey  slopes  were  half 
hidden  in  the  haze.  Over  all  there  is 
that  great  silence,  broken  occasionally  by 
the  wild  cries  of  the  birds.  Those  birds 
which  frequent  such  secluded  spots  seem 


76  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

to  have  notes  which  go  well  with  the 
wild  surroundings.  There  is  the  wail  of 
the  Red-throated  Diver,  which  sounds 
like  the  groan  of  a  man  in  pain ;  the 
far-reaching  kop-op-op-op-op  of  the  larger 
Black-throated  Diver,  and  the  harsh 
answering  cry,  ker-o-war\  the  deep 
sounding  call  of  the  Wild  Geese,  kur-kur- 
kur-konk,  ker-konk,  and  the  loud  whistle 
of  their  wings  as  they  fly  past.  Now 
and  then  the  pee-pee-pee  of  the  Sandpiper 
as  it  flies  from  one  rock  to  another,  and 
the  rude  calls  of  the  Gulls,  with  the 
short,  sharp  bark  of  the  Greater  Black- 
backed  Gull.  Out  towards  the  mountains 
one  heard  the  croak  of  the  Raven,  krrrak, 
krrrak,  and  from  over  the  black  moors 
came  the  cry  of  the  Whimbrel.  Again 
and  again  those  rough  notes  broke  the 
silence,  but  one  could  often  listen  for  an 
hour  without  hearing  a  single  sound  to 
disturb  the  calm.  I  rowed  back  to  the 
end  of  the  loch,  fastened  the  boat  to  a 


THE  BIRDS   OF  A   NORTHERN  LOCH     77 

large  stone,  and  began  to  tramp  the  six 
miles  back  to  the  hotel,  and  on  my  way 
I  heard  some  notes  that  made  me  stop 
and  listen.  It  was  a  Lark  singing  up  in 
the  sky,  and  that  beautiful  song,  coming 
after  those  wild  cries  which  I  had  been 
hearing,  sounded  the  sweetest  bird  music 
I  had  ever  heard,  and  was  like  a  link 
with  home,  where  throughout  the  whole 
of  the  springtime  day  and  half  the  night 
the  woods  are  filled  with  happy  songs. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  VILLAGE  THRUSH 

HPHE  tall  poplars  had  no  leaves  upon 
-••  them  when  the  Thrush  first  began 
his  spring  song.  Winter  hardly  seemed 
to  have  gone  when  the  first  bright  and 
sunny  day  of  spring  arrived,  and  the 
sudden  warmth  made  the  birds  sing.  I 
do  not  know  how  many  years  past  the 
Thrush  had  sung  from  his  high  perch 
over  that  beautiful  little  village,  but  we 
were  all  glad  to  hear  his  first  notes  again. 
Last  winter  his  favourite  tree  was  cut 
down,  but  he  took  up  his  position  on  a 
higher  branch  on  a  neighbouring  tree. 
There  was  no  mistaking  this  Thrush 
when  he  began  for  he  had  a  wonderful 


THE    VILLAGE   THRUSH  79 

song.  Birds  are  like  human  singers, 
their  songs  vary  to  a  very  great  degree, 
and  you  will  usually  find  that  birds  which 
live  near  the  sea,  or  on  the  hills,  where 
the  air  is  pure,  have  far  finer  and 
stronger  songs  than  those  of  the  woods 
and  meadows  far  inland.  This  Thrush 
must  have  loved  hrs  village,  for  right 
through  the  spring  and  summer  he  sang 
throughout  the  whole  day. 

The  village,  a  real  old  English  village, 
stood  amongst  beautiful  surroundings, 
and  the  Thrush  as  he  sang  looked  down 
upon  a  maze  of  green  meadows,  three 
lakes,  and  woodland.  Imagine  you  are 
standing  on  a  bank  dividing  two  of  the 
lakes.  The  one  on  the  right  is  bordered 
part  of  the  way  round  by  a  thick  mass 
of  trees  ;  elms  on  the  far  outside,  then 
big  elders  and  may  bushes,  and  nearest 
the  water's  edge  drooping  willows,  sloping 
down  to  the  reeds  which  grow  for  several 
yards  out  into  the  water.  This  reed 


8o  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

fringe  is  not  a  straight  line,  but  curves 
in  and  out,  and  hardly  the  same  thickness 
or  length  for  many  yards.  Away  in  the 
farther  corner  there  is  a  break  in  the 
green  where  a  tributary  feeds  the  lake. 
In  the  middle  of  the  springtime  we  see 
delicious  shades  of  green  here,  no  two 
trees  alike,  and  the  tall  waving  reed- 
border  changes  every  moment  as  the 
wind-ripples  play  over  it.  High  up  over 
the  bank  beyond  the  small  stream  a  little 
red-roofed  cottage  is  half  hidden  amongst 
the  shades  of  green,  and  the  white  lock- 
gates  show  up  almost  too  distinctly.  In 
the  meadow  above  the  cottage,  the  Manor 
House,  so  neat  and  trim,  surrounded 
with  its  cushion-like  hedges,  stands,  very 
little  of  the  red  house  visible  for  the 
trees.  The  distance  is  clear  in  the 
evening  light,  and  the  Chiltern  Hills, 
for  the  chief  part  thickly  wooded,  seem 
to  be  covered  with  even  more  tints  of 
green  than  we  see  around  the  lake. 


THE  VILLAGE  THRUSH. 


[Page  80 


THE    VILLAGE    THRUSH  81 

The  larger  lake  on  our  left  is  also  very 
beautiful,  but  stands  out  clearer  than 
the  other,  for  its  margins  are  not  over- 
grown with  reeds  and  bushes.  Just  a 
few  there  are,  with  the  willow  branches 
dipping  in  the  water,  but  for  the  most 
part  it  is  surrounded  with  large  grey 
boulders.  Right  away  in  the  corner 
there  are  some  reeds,  just  where  another 
small  stream  feeds  it,  and  round  here 
you  see  a  number  of  birds.  It  was  on 
this  bank  that  one  evening,  without 
moving  from  the  spot  where  I  was 
standing,  I  counted  forty-nine  Great- 
crested  Grebes.  Just  over  the  reeds  we 
see  here  and  there  a  chimney,  a  red  roof 
or  gleaming  glass  showing  between  the 
elms,  and  you  just  hear  the  faint  noise 
of  trickling  water  as  it  flows  over  the 
weir.  The  whole  of  this  sweet  English 
scene  is  intensely  beautified  by  the  setting 
sun,  for  water  always  looks  at  its  best 
when  the  sun  is  low,  shedding  a  wide 


82  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

pathway  of  tiny  ripples  right  from  shore 
to  shore ;  and  over  to  the  right  of  this 
golden  path  there  is  the  old  church  on 
the  hill,  surrounded  with  little  cottages 
and  tall  elms.  You  can  imagine  the 
attractions  such  a  spot  has  for  birds, 
and  as  all  are  strictly  protected  numerous 
species  nest  there,  and  it  is  over  this 
scene  that  the  Village  Thrush  sang.  We 
called  him  the  Village  Thrush  because 
he  seemed  to  belong  to  it,  and  each 
spring,  as  surely  as  we  expected  the  burst- 
ing leaves  and  the  blossom,  we  expected 
to  hear  his  song.  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing it ;  there  was  not  a  Thrush  for  a 
dozen  miles  round  who  could  equal  him 
for  variety  of  notes  or  loudness  and 
purity  of  song.  I  was  listening  to  him 
early  one  April  morning  ;  the  rising  sun 
was  shining  into  my  room,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  sleep  with  that  bird  not 
far  from  my  open  window.  I  counted 
twelve  changes  in  his  song,  and  many  of 


:RUSH  BROODING 


THE    VILLAGE    THRUSH  83 

the  notes  he  repeated  five  times.  It  is 
interesting  to  listen  to  a  good  singer  like 
this.  It  will  be  noticed  that  sometimes 
he  will  strike  a  new  variety  of  notes,  and 
immediately  afterwards  he  stops.  Perhaps 
he  is  trying  to  remember  these  notes  to 
repeat  them,  but  it  is  not  often  that  they 
are  repeated.  If  he  is  specially  pleased 
with  a  bar  of  his  song,  he  will  repeat  it 
several  times.  Most  of  his  bars  were  sung 
three  times,  but  there  was  one  glorious 
combination  of  notes  that  he  often  re- 
peated five  times.  He  began  to  sing 
from  that  high  perch  at  the  beginning 
of  April,  and  for  over  three  months  he 
kept  it  up,  giving  out  such  music  to  that 
little  English  village,  that  if  it  had  been 
in  a  town  thousands  would  have  flocked 
to  hear  him,  yet  here  no  one  took  much 
notice  of  him.  He  was  just  part  of  the 
old  village,  and  we  listened  to  his  song 
as  we  did  to  the  clanging  of  the  lock 
gates,  the  rush  of  water  as  the  locks 


84  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

emptied  to  allow  a  barge  to  pass  on,  or 
to  the  deep  tone  of  the  church  clock,  as 
it  struck  out  the  sixteen  hours  through 
which  he  sang  to  us. 

Far  underneath  him,  cosily  hidden  in 
a  small  bush,  his  mate  was  sitting  upon 
their  eggs.  There  were  five  of  them,  a 
deeper  blue  than  the  sky,  but  when  he 
fed  the  sitting  bird  no  one  could  tell,  or 
whether  he  took  his  turn  at  sitting  was 
also  a  mystery,  for  through  almost  every 
available  minute  of  daylight  he  seemed 
to  be  singing.  However,  five  baby 
Thrushes  duly  appeared,  and  then  he 
did  help  to  feed  them.  While  I  was  in 
hiding  near  the  nest,  and  watching  the 
birds  busily  feeding  their  young,  I  noticed 
how  he  would  often,  after  giving  them 
food,  mount  on  to  a  high  branch  and 
sing.  The  hen  did  most  of  the  feeding, 
and  I  watched  them  for  some  days,  but 
as  they  grew  he  became  more  busy.  On 
one  occasion  he  brought  a  long  kind  of 


CLAMOURING  FOR  MORE  FOOD. 


(Page  84 


THE    VILLAGE   THRUSH  85 

beetle ;  he  was  holding  the  creature  in 
the  middle  of  its  body,  and  he  tried  to 
place  it  in  one  of  the  wide-open  beaks. 
As  the  beetle  refused  to  bend,  it  lodged 
across  the  beak,  and  would  not  go 
down.  He  pushed  and  pushed,  then  tried 
another  beak,  it  would  not  go  down  that — 
and  so  he  went  all  round  the  nest.  What 
was  he  to  do  ?  He  stood  there  looking 
quite  disappointed  that  this  fine  large 
beakful  could  not  be  swallowed.  All  the 
time  the  five  young  birds  were  clamour- 
ing for  it,  and  again  he  attempted  to  put 
it  down,  but  as  each  attempt  was  a 
failure  he  suddenly  thought  of  a  new 
way.  As  the  beetle  was  wriggling  all 
this  time  he  could  not  leave  go  of  it ; 
so  placing  his  head  on  one  side,  he  was 
able  to  force  it  head-first  down  a  baby 
Thrush's  beak,  and  to  prevent  it  wrig- 
gling back  he  pushed  it  well  down !  I 
thought  the  youngster  would  choke,  but 
not  so,  for  with  a  few  big  gulps  the  beetle 


86  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

completely  disappeared,  and  having  suc- 
ceeded the  Thrush  flew  away  for  more  food. 
It  was  all  so  interesting  that  I  took  a 
bioscope  record  of  the  whole  scene,  so 
that  others  might  also  look  upon  it. 

The  five  young  were  reared,  they  left 
the  nest,  and  a  few  days  later  another 
nest  was  begun.  When  this  was  finished 
four  more  eggs  were  laid,  and  during  the 
days  while  the  hen  sat,  her  mate  again 
sang  all  the  day  from  his  high  perch. 
And  so  he  kept  on  until  the  end  of  June, 
and  at  that  time,  when  the  hedges  were  a 
mass  of  white  and  pink  with  wild  roses, 
his  song  ceased.  Just  now  and  then  in 
July  we  heard  a  few  bars  of  his  notes, 
but  although  his  song  was  finished  he 
was  still  with  us,  and  he  and  his  mate 
had  reared  nearly  a  dozen  young 
Thrushes.  But  all  of  these  did  not 
remain  long  in  the  world.  A  weasel 
had  three,  and  a  month  later  all  seemed 
to  have  left  the  haunts  of  their  parents, 
leaving  them  in  sole  charge. 


ALL  HER  BABIES  ASLEEP. 


THE    VILLAGE   THRUSH  87 

Some  of  us  are  already  looking  forward 
to  hearing  his  song  again,  for  it  is  the 
best  time  of  the  year,  'when  the  seasons 
are  young,  that  he  sings.  There  are  few 
spots  that  I  love  quite  as  much  as  my 
little  English  village  amongst  the  trees, 
green  meadows  and  lakes,  and  I  love  it 
best  when  my  Thrush  sends  out  his  loud 
notes  over  his  small  world,  and  tells  me 
that  spring  has  come. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   EGGS   ON   TOP   OF  THE    HILL 


~^HE  Lapwings  had  many  adventures 
•^  before  they  decided  to  build  their 
nest  right  on  top  of  the  hill.  The  first 
one  was  made  down  on  the  marsh,  and 
soon  after  the  eggs  were  laid  they  were 
taken  by  a  labourer,  and  no  doubt  were 
heartily  enjoyed  for  his  breakfast  on  the 
following  morning.  A  second  attempt 
was  made,  and  two  eggs  were  laid  in  a 
slight  hollow  in  the  four-acre  field  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  but  the  field  being 
ploughed  they  were  destroyed.  Then  the 
birds  decided  to  go  to  the  top  of  the 
hill.  There  was  some  rough  grass  up 
there,  and  on  a  small  mound  the  hen 
made  another  nest.  It  was  a  poor 


THE  EGGS  ON  TOP  OF  THE  HILL  89 

attempt  at  nest  building ;  just  a  few 
grasses  were  placed  in  a  hollow,  and  the 
four  eggs  were  laid.  But  the  sitting 
bird  added  to  her  home,  and  often  while 
covering  the  eggs  she  would  pick  up  a 
piece  of  grass  and  place  it  under  her  breast. 
On  a  slightly  higher  mound  near  •  by 
the  male  bird  made  a  nest  for  himself, 
but  it  was  even  a  worse  nest  than  that 
made  by  his  mate.  He  often  rested 
there,  and  while  sitting  down  he  turned 
round  and  round,  and  a  nice  cup-shaped 
hollow  was  made,  and  he  added  a  few 
pieces  of  dry  grass.  When  he  had  had 
sufficient  food  he  would  go  there,  and  if 
any  one  approached  he  would  be  the 
first  to  see  them,  and,  giving  out  a  loud 
cry,  would  rise  straight  from  where  he 
was  sitting.  As  soon  as  his  mate  heard 
that  alarm  cry,  she  would  slip  off  her 
eggs,  and,  crouching  low,  would  run  for 
twenty  yards  or  more,  and  with  a  loud 
answering  cry  fly  up  and  join  her  mate. 


90  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

When  the  eggs  were  first  laid  the  birds 
would  quickly  fly  away,  but  as  incuba- 
tion proceeded  they  became  more  bold 
and  flew  round  the  head  of  any  person 
who  went  too  near  their  home.  With 
loud  cries  they  attempted  to  drive  the 
enemy  away,  and  both  birds  made  a 
great  commotion  over  a  piece  of  rough 
ground  where  the  nest  was  not  situated. 
One  evening  the  Lapwings  had  a 
great  adventure.  They  did  not  fear  the 
sheep  which  roamed  over  the  hills,  for 
they  never  trod  on  the  eggs  or  disturbed 
the  birds  in  any  way,  but  it  was  dif- 
ferent with  the  lambs.  It  was  about  six 
o'clock,  just  at  that  time  when  the 
lambs  feel  that  they  must  play.  It  so 
happened  that  one  sheep  and  a  solitary 
lamb  were  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
all  the  others  seemed  to  be  lower  down 
the  hill  or  even  in  the  valley.  The 
lamb  wanted  a  game,  and  she  saw  the 
Lapwing  on  the  ground.  For  a  short 


THE  EGGS  ON  TOP  OF  THE  HILL     91 

while  she  stood  looking  at  this  strange 
thing,  then  she  slowly  walked  round  it. 
Becoming  bolder  she  actually  ran  at  the 
bird,  and  lowering  her  small  head  tried 
to  butt  it,  as  she  loved  to  butt  her 
companions.  The  bird  left  her  eggs, 
gave  out  a  cry  and  flew  in  the  face  of 
the  lamb,  and  as  she  did  so  her  mate 
came  down  and  joined  her.  Here  was 
some  fun  for  the  lamb,  for  she  dis- 
covered that  the  more  she  butted  the 
new  playthings  the  more  they  "played" 
with  her !  The  little  white  lamb  frisked 
round  them,  ducked  her  pretty  head  and 
ran  full  tilt  at  the  angry  birds,  and 
the  more  they  called  and  flapped  their 
wings,  the  more  she  liked  it.  Her 
mother  was  trying  to  call  her  away,  but 
she  was  not  going  to  heed  her  with  two 
such  lively  toys  before  her.  The  lamb 
ran  a  couple  of  yards,  and  of  course 
the  birds  followed,  and  she  thought  it 
was  a  right  royal  kind  of  race.  Back 


92  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

she  went  again,  all  the  time  frisking 
dangerously  near  the  eggs,  with  the  two 
birds  doing  their  utmost  to  drive  the 
annoying  little  creature  away.  I  do  not 
know  how  long  the  game  would  have 
continued,  but  when  it  was  getting 
rather  bad  for  the  birds,  the  lamb  dis- 
covered that  her  face  was  getting  sore, 
and  each  time  she  charged,  a  sharp 
prick  from  a  beak  made  her  draw  back. 
One  real  good  peck  on  her  soft  black  nose 
made  her  give  up,  and  calling  loudly,  she 
ran  away  to  her  mother.  The  hen  Lap- 
wing went  to  her  eggs,  no  doubt  glad 
that  they  had  escaped. 

For  three  weeks  she  sat  patiently 
upon  her  four  eggs,  her  mate  keeping 
watch  and  guarding  that  part  of  the 
moor  that  they  rightly  regarded  as  their 
own.  Almost  as  soon  as  the  four  young 
had  left  their  shells  they  began  to  crawl 
about.  Now  one  and  then  another 
would  creep  from  underneath  its 


A   YOUXG   LAl'WIXG. 


LAPWIXG  AT  HER  XEST. 


[Page  92 


THE  EGGS  ON  TOP  OF  THE  HILL  93 

mother's  breast  and  explore  the  strange 
world  into  which  they  had  come,  and 
before  the  day  was  over  they  had  almost 
learnt  to  capture  flies  on  their  own 
account.  They  saw  the  black  specks  on 
the  grass  stems,  and  their  mother  had 
shown  how  to  peck  at  them  quickly, 
but  the  babies  were  too  slow,  and  missed 
the  insects  as  they  took  to  their  wings. 
But  hunger  made  them  more  cute,  and 
the  next  day  it  had  to  be  a  very  artful 
fly  which  escaped  their  quick  beaks ;  here 
and  there  they  darted,  picking  them  up 
rapidly. 

A  Carrion  Crow,  which  had  its  nest 
in  the  little  coppice  on  the  hill-side,  had 
discovered  that  the  young  Lapwings 
were  about,  and  the  large  robber  had 
made  several  attempts  to  capture  them. 
Each  time  the  Crow  came  to  the  top 
of  the  hill  the  male  Lapwing,  which  was 
always  on  the  look-out,  gave  the  alarm, 
and  the  young  knew  exactly  what  to  do 


94  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

the  instant  they  heard  this  warning  cry. 
Quickly  they  ran  to  shelter,  crept  under- 
neath a  grass  tuft,  and  kept  quite  still 
until  they  heard  the  soft  call  of  their 
mother  near.  But  all  the  time  their 
parents  were  calling  out  their  warning 
cries  and  attacking  the  Crow,  they  kept 
in  hiding. 

It  was  not  often  that  I  saw  the  babies 
when  I  went  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 
One  bright  morning  I  gave  a  lengthy 
search,  and  eventually  found  one  of 
them.  It  was  crouching  on  the  ground, 
with  its  tiny  head  pushed  under  a  grass 
tuft,  and  just  the  slightest  vestige  of  a 
bright  black  diamond  peering  through 
the  green,  but  the  instant  the  young 
bird  knew  that  I  had  found  it,  it 
jumped  up  and  ran  fast  across  the  moor. 
I  went  after  it,  and  soon  had  it  in  my 
hands.  How  scared  the  parents  were, 
and  how  they  tried  to  protect  their 
babies !  It  is  surprising  what  ruses 


THE  EGGS   ON   TOP   OF  THE  HILL     95 

birds  will  perform,  and  how  bold  they 
will  become  when  trying  to  defend  their 
young.  One  bird  threw  itself  on  the 
ground  not  far  from  my  feet,  and  with 
one  wing  evidently  hanging  helpless  at 
its  side,  and  with  a  leg  lying  under  the 
tail  as  if  badly  broken,  it  slowly  dragged 
itself  along  the  ground,  giving  out  a 
plaintive  cry  meanwhile.  In  this  way  it 
attracted  me,  or  rather  it  thought  it  was 
attracting  me,  some  distance  away  and 
then  flew  up,  gave  out  some  excited 
cries,  and  thought  it  had  done  a  very 
clever  thing, 

The  young  birds  are  well  looked  after 
by  their  parents,  and  in  the  early 
morning  especially  have  a  quantity  of 
food  given  to  them  and  consequently 
grow  quickly.  They  soon  lose  their 
pretty  downy  appearance,  and  become 
long-legged,  lanky  -  looking  birds  quite 
able  to  shift  for  themselves ;  and  it  was 
a  good  job  they  were  able  to  do  this, 


96  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

for  one  bright  morning  trouble  came  to 
the  little  colony  on  the  top  of  the  hill. 
I  was  sitting  on  a  mound  near  their 
home,  when  I  heard  a  great  rush  of 
wings,  loud  excited  cries  from  the  birds, 
and  a  Peregrine  Falcon  dashed  down 
and  struck  down  one  of  the  old  Lap- 
wings !  Near  by  I  found  the  dead  body 
of  another  bird,  and  all  through  their 
attempts  at  nesting  and  rearing  their 
young  they  seemed  to  be  dodged  by 
bad  luck.  These  birds  of  the  open 
moor  are  assailed  on  all  sides  by 
enemies,  and  it  is  really  surprising  that 
so  many  are  successful. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   NEST   IN   THE   OLD   OAK 

'  I  "HE  large  nest,  high  up  in  the  old 
-*"  oak,  contained  four  green  eggs. 
For  three  weeks  the  two  birds  had  been 
taking  their  turns  at  sitting,  and  now 
the  nest  contained  four  skinny  little 
birds,  which  devoted  all  their  time,  when 
their  mother  was  not  covering  them,  to 
raising  their  long  necks,  opening  their 
beaks  and  squeaking  for  food. 

That  fine  and  magnificent  old  oak 
looked  out  over  a  great  tract  of 
country.  It  stood  there  when  the  farm- 
land all  round  about  was  a  wild  moor, 
over  which  kings  hunted  the  wild  stag. 
For  a  number  of  years  past  the  Crows 
had  made  this  tree  their  home,  repair- 
7 


98  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

ing  the  nest  in  each  successive  season. 
Although  it  was  so  high  up  in  the 
branches,  it  was  in  a  secure  place,  for  in 
the  first  place  the  birds  had  built  their 
home  of  green  twigs  which  had  been 
bitten  off  the  lower  and  surrounding 
branches,  for  they  know  that  a  nest  built 
of  twigs  which  would  easily  bend, 
could  be  fastened  to  the  tree-top  in  a 
much  more  secure  manner  than  with  dry, 
brittle  sticks  which  were  to  be  found  in 
plenty  in  the  fields.  Several  climbers  had 
tried  to  reach  that  nest,  but  had  not 
succeeded.  I  remember  as  a  boy  I  made 
a  big  attempt  to  get  up  to  it,  and  it  had 
to  be  a  tough  tree  that  I  could  not  climb, 
but  it  resisted  all  my  efforts,  and  the 
nest  has  never  been  reached  by  a  human 
climber. 

All  the  lesser  birds  feared  the  two  old 
Crows.  They  were  the  lords  of  that 
Birdland,  and  very  few  birds  attempted 
to  build  their  nests  near  by,  for  if  they 


THE  NEST  IN   THE   OlD   OAK          99 

did  so,  the  robber  Crows  took  the  eggs 
as  soon  as  they  were  laid.  The  Wren, 
however,  had  a  nest  in  a  bush  immediately 
under  the  oak;  but  the  Wren  is  such  a 
tiny  bird,  and  it  was  hardly  noticed  by 
the  Crows,  for  the  nest  made  of  dead 
leaves  was  cunningly  hidden  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  bush,  and  I  doubt  very  much, 
if  the  Crows  had  looked  right  at  the  nest, 
whether  they  would  have  recognized  it  as 
such.  A  pair  of  Blackbirds,  which  had 
not  had  any  experience  of  nest  building 
before,  made  their  home  in  a  very 
open  part  of  the  hedge  not  far  away, 
and  the  male  bird  actually  had  the 
impudence  to  sit  in  the  Crows'  oak  and 
sing.  He  did  this  each  evening,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  nest  contained  five 
eggs  that  he  realized  that  the  two  large 
birds  above  him  were  robbers.  It  was 
about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when 
he  was  still  singing,  that  his  mate  heard 
a  great  noise  in  the  hedge  by  her  side, 


ioo  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

and,  looking  round,  she  saw  a  large  bird 
looking  down  at  her.  He  seemed  to  be 
in  a  fighting  humour,  for  he  came  towards 
her,  and  she,  in  her  fright,  left  her  nest 
and  gave  out  her  loud  notes  of  alarm. 
Instantly  her  mate  flew  towards  her,  and 
both  birds  flew  round  and  about  the 
robber ;  but  what  did  he  care  ? — why  he 
hardly  took  any  notice  of  them,  and  just 
picking  up  one  of  the  eggs  in  his  beak 
he  flew  to  his  hungry  youngsters  above ; 
as  soon  as  the  four  beaks  were  raised 
he  held  the  egg  over  one  big  mouth, 
broke  it  and  allowed  the  contents  to  run 
down  the  young  bird's  throat.  Straight 
back  to  the  Blackbirds'  home  he  went, 
and  swallowed  two  eggs  himself,  while 
the  owners  made  a  most  tremendous  noise ; 
but  ignoring  them  altogether,  the  other 
two  eggs  were  taken  up  to  his  young.  The 
Blackbirds  had  learnt  a  lesson,  and  the  next 
nest  that  they  built  was  far  from  the  oak, 
and  it  was  more  successfully  concealed. 


THE  BLACKBIRD. 


[Page  100 


THE  NEST  IN  THE   OLD   OAK        101 

The  Crows  were  always  robbing.  It 
had  to  be  a  well-concealed  nest  that  escaped 
their  keen  eyes.  I  had  heard  a  Skylark 
singing  high  up  over  the  meadows.  I 
knew  he  had  a  nest  there,  and  by  the 
way  he  sang  during  the  first  part  of  May 
I  also  knew  that  the  robber  birds  had 
not  yet  found  his  nest.  When  I  dis- 
covered it,  it  contained  three  young  birds 
about  a  week  old,  and  as  the  nest  was 
so  carefully  hidden  under  a  tuft  of  grass 
I  hoped  it  would  escape  the  Crows'  notice. 
But  it  was  not  to  be,  and  very  soon 
after,  one  of  the  robbers  went  to  the  Larks' 
home,  and  the  young  birds  were  carried 
off  to  help  satisfy  the  hunger  of  the 
birds  in  the  tree-top.  Day  after  day  the 
Crows  carefully  quartered  the  surrounding 
country,  and  each  evening  as  it  approached 
saw  those  young  Crows  getting  larger 
and  plumper,  and  also  many  more  nests 
robbed.  Mice,  rats,  moles,  and  also  all 
kinds  of  carrion  were  taken  to  them,  and 


102  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

before  many  more  days  had  passed,  the 
four  young  birds  were  ready  to  leave 
their  home.  I  saw  them  up  there,  through 
the  fresh  green  leaves,  sitting  outside 
the  nest,  and  the  parents  tried  hard 
to  get  them  to  take  to  their  wings. 
They  attracted  them  with  food,  standing 
on  a  distant  branch  and  calling  loudly, 
and  at  last  one  was  induced  to  trust 
itself  in  space.  It  half  flew  and  half 
fell  down  to  the  ground,  and  landed 
there  with  a  big  bump  which  knocked 
all  the  breath  out  of  its  body.  The 
parents  followed  it,  and  when  it  had 
recovered  it  took  some  of  the  food  which 
one  of  them  offered.  They  walked  on  in 
front  of  it,  called  excitedly,  and  did  all 
they  could  to  get  it  to  follow,  and  in  a 
clumsy  and  funny  manner  it  waddled 
after  them.  The  parents  knew,  however, 
that  the  ground  was  no  place  for  their 
baby,  and  after  a  tremendous  lot  of 
calling  and  not  until  they  saw  a  man 


THE  NEST  IN  THE   OLD   OAK        103 

approaching  did  it  attempt  to  rise.  It 
beat  the  ground  hard  with  its  wings, 
and  struggled  after  the  two  old  birds, 
for  as  a  final  attempt  they  had  given 
out  a  loud  note  of  alarm,  and  even  a 
baby  Crow  knows  that  that  means  it  is 
time  to  shift.  He  saw  his  parents  high 
above  him,  circling  around,  but  he  was 
low  down,  and  however  much  he  beat 
those  wings  of  his  he  did  not  seem  to 
get  much  higher.  He  dashed  towards  a 
tree,  and  by  a  great  stroke  of  luck  landed 
on  a  tough  branch;  still  panting  and 
with  all  the  pluck  knocked  out  of  him, 
he  waited  until  he  heard  the  loud  krraar 
of  his  father.  Before  the  evening  came 
on  he  managed  to  use  his  wings  fairly 
successfully,  and  he  roosted  in  a  neigh- 
bouring oak  on  a  branch  which  swayed 
to  and  fro ;  and  before  the  sun  rose,  and 
while  it  was  quite  dark,  he  managed  to 
fall  off  his  rather  insecure  stand,  and  fell, 
a  scared  bunch  of  feathers,  to  the  ground 


104  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

below.  There,  huddled  up  in  the  dew- 
covered  grass,  he  waited,  and  even  before 
it  was  properly  light  some  food  was 
brought  to  him  by  one  of  his  parents 
which  had  been  with  him  in  his  new 
home.  Once  a  weasel  passed  close  to 
him,  and  instinct  told  him  it  was  an 
enemy,  and  no  doubt  something  might 
have  happened  to  him  if  his  parent  had 
not  given  an  angry  note  from  above, 
reminding  the  little  four-footed  thief  that 
a  more  powerful  creature  than  he  was 
ready  to  attack.  The  weasel  slunk  on  his 
way,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  grass 
under  the  hedge. 

Two  days  later  the  other  young  left 
the  nest,  and  their  first  adventures  in  the 
air  were  quite  as  exciting  as  their  brother's, 
but  all  survived,  and  very  soon  it  was 
quite  a  common  sight  to  see  the  family 
of  six  birds  flying  about  the  country. 
All  through  the  summer  the  young  re- 
mained with  their  parents,  and  many 


THE  NEST  IN   THE   OLD   OAK        105 

things  they  learnt  from  them.  The  artful 
old  birds  taught  them  the  difference 
between  a  farm  labourer  with  a  hoe  or 
rake  and  the  same  man  with  a  gun ;  they 
found  out  that  it  was  never  wise  to  fly 
low  over  a  thick  hedge  without  first 
looking  on  the  other  side.  They  learnt 
the  difference  between  a  Stoat  and  a  Rat, 
and  that  it  was  never  wise  to  attack  the 
former,  while  the  latter  could  be  killed 
if  the  bird  got  the  first  blow  in  with  its 
powerful  beak.  Their  parents  taught  them 
never  to  search  for  food  close  to  a  hedge, 
without  continually  looking  through,  and 
that  it  was  not  wise  to  remain  too  long 
in  a  corner  of  a  field.  All  the  tricks 
known  to  older  birds  they  were  proficient 
in  by  the  time  the  autumn  approached, 
and  then  their  parents  thought  it  was  time 
to  send  them  out  into  the  world  so  that 
they  were  not  dependent  upon  them  in 
any  way.  After  the  harvest  had  all  been 
gathered  in,  and  the  stubble  had  turned 


io6  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

from  gold  to  grey,  and  the  Swallows  had 
all  gone,  then  it  was  that  the  young 
birds  discovered  that  the  whole  conduct 
of  their  parents  had  changed.  They  no 
longer  wanted  them,  and  each  time  they 
approached  them  they  were  violently 
attacked.  In  the  evening,  when  they 
wished  to  roost  in  the  old  familiar  spots, 
they  found  two  angry  Crows  ready  to 
drive  them  away,  and  so  violent  did  the 
two  old  birds  become  that  the  whole  four 
young  birds  took  the  broad  hints  given 
to  them,  and  went  off  on  their  own 
account.  Where  they  went  or  what 
became  of  them  I  do  not  know,  for  they 
were  never  seen  in  the  district  again. 

Through  the  severe  frosts  and  snow  of 
winter  the  Crows  had  a  rough  time. 
Food  of  all  kind  was  hard  to  find,  and 
on  one  occasion  the  birds  went  for  three 
whole  days  without  a  particle  of  nourish- 
ment, but  finding  a  Thrush  in  the  same 
plight  as  themselves,  that  is  starving,  they 


THE  NEST  IN   THE   OLD   OAK        107 

attacked  it,  and  made  a  scanty  meal,  but 
it  kept  them  going  for  another  two  days, 
then  the  frost  went,  and  the  floods  came, 
and  they  had  enough  and  to  spare. 

With  the  first  call  of  spring  they  went 
to  their  old  nest  in  the  oak.  It  was 
still  there,  although  dilapidated  with  the 
winter  storms,  and  about  the  middle  of 
March  they  set  to  work  to  repair  it.  It 
took  them  a  long  time,  for  they  did 
not  hurry.  While  the  weather  continued 
warm  they  kept  at  their  work,  but  as 
soon  as  a  cold  change  came,  all  work 
at  the  nest  ceased.  By  the  second  week 
of  April  the  nest  was  ready,  and  then  a 
great  tragedy  came  into  their  lives.  The 
farmer  had  for  a  long  time  been  watch- 
ing the  birds,  and  one  afternoon,  while 
they  were  far  away,  he  cunningly  hid 
himself  by  a  tree  on  which  they  usually 
settled  in  the  evening.  It  was  after  sun- 
set when  the  birds  flew  towards  \\irn, 
and  before  they  settled  two  shots  rang 


io8  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

out.  One  bird  fell  with  a  loud  thud  to 
the  ground,  it  rolled  about  there  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  was  still.  The 
other  bird,  untouched  by  the  shot,  went 
up  in  large  circles  and  called  loudly  and 
piteously,  but  no  answer  came  from  the 
ground.  The  farmer  picked  up  the  bird 
and  carried  it  to  the  centre  of  a  large 
field,  and  placing  a  tall  stick  in  the 
ground,  he  tied  the  Crow  to  this  and 
left  it  there  dangling  about  in  the  wind 
as  a  "  scarecrow." 

A  day  or  two  after  this  I  saw  the 
remaining  Crow  sitting  on  top  of  a  tree 
on  the  edge  of  the  field  in  which  his 
dead  mate  was.  There  he  sat  with  all 
his  feathers  ruffled  and  his  head  drawn 
in,  and  at  long  intervals  he  uttered  a 
mournful  note.  For  days  the  poor  bird 
sat  there ;  you  did  not  see  him  quartering 
the  ground  for  food.  I  do  not  think  he 
thought  about  eating.  All  he  wanted 
was  his  mate ;  he  kept  on  calling  her,  but 


THE  NEST  IN  THE   OLD   OAK        109 

no  answer  came  back  to  him.  Once  he 
went  out  to  her,  and  then  I  think  he 
knew.  Back  to  his  perch  on  the  tree 
he  went,  and  the  last  time  I  saw  him 
alive  he  was  still  there. 

Not  many  days  later  I  passed  by 
there  again.  The  Crow  was  not  on  his 
branch,  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but 
when  I  reached  the  tree  I  saw  a  black 
object  on  the  ground.  There  he  lay, 
dead.  I  picked  up  his  body,  and 
curiosity  caused  me  to  examine  him.  I 
knew  he  had  not  been  shot,  and  on  a 
further  examination  I  found  that  he  had 
had  no  food  for  many  days  past.  His 
death  was  caused  through  starvation. 
He  had  mourned  his  mate,  and  fell 
dead  within  sight  of  her. 

The  Crow  may  be  a  cruel  bird,  but  he 
knows  how  to  love. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  NEST  ON  THE  GREY  CRAG 


stronghold  of  the  Welsh  Raven 
is  wild,  bleak,  and  bare.  Grey 
valleys,  with  great  grey  hills  rising  above 
them  ;  vast  grey  slopes  of  crumbling 
slate;  here  and  there  a  touch  of  green 
showing  where  a  clump  of  ivy  grows  in 
the  crevices  of  the  grey  rocks,  but  as  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach  grey  is  the  prevail- 
ing colour.  It  is  a  fitting  and  wild  home 
for  a  bird  which  we  associate  with  freedom 
in  its  wildest  sense,  and  here  he  has 
lived  for  generations  past. 

Before  the  snows  of  winter  have  left 
the  hills,  the  Ravens  begin  to  see  to 
their  nest.  Most  of  the  pairs  have  several 
nests,  and  early  in  February,  and  even 


THE  NEST  ON  THE   GREY  CRAG      in 

in  January  if  the  weather  be  at  all  warm, 
the  birds  begin  to  repair  these.  One 
year  they  use  a  nest  in  a  large  dingle, 
and  perhaps  the  next  they  will  go  to 
one  of  their  other  nests  a  mile  away.  I 
have  seen  three  nests  on  the  face  of  a 
small  cliff,  all  repaired  and  ready  for 
eggs,  and  not  very  far  away  this  same 
pair  had  a  nest  in  a  large  tree.  I  believe 
the  birds  do  not  know  themselves  which 
nest  they  will  occupy  until  the  last 
moment,  for  they  seem  to  roam  about, 
adding  sticks  to  their  different  nests. 

The  nest  is  a  large  structure,  and  if 
it  should  be  in  a  secure  place  where  the 
violent  storms  of  winter  do  not  damage 
it  much,  it  grows  to  an  enormous  size 
in  the  course  of  a  few  years.  The  lower 
portion,  or  foundation,  is  composed  of 
stout  sticks ;  smaller  twigs  are  placed  on 
these,  and  the  inside  is  lined  thickly  with 
sheep's  wool,  which  the  birds  have  no 
difficulty  in  finding  on  the  surrounding 


112  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

hills.  The  birds  spend  a  lot  of  time  in 
finishing  the  nest ;  often  a  whole  fortnight 
is  spent  on  the  lining  alone,  and  a  very 
cosy  and  comfortable  nest  is  made. 

The  eggs  vary  in  number.  It  is  quite 
a  common  occurrence  to  find  two  and 
three.  On  one  occasion  I  found  a  nest 
with  a  clutch  of  seven,  but  four  is  the 
usual  number.  The  male  bird  keeps  a 
careful  watch  over  his  sitting  mate.  One 
nest  that  I  know  of  is  on  the  face  of  a 
great  sloping  rock,  and  the  male  bird 
may  often  be  seen  from  a  distance  of  a 
mile,  sitting  on  a  prominent  rock  against 
the  sky-line.  If  we  keep  to  the  valley 
he  will  remain  there,  but  if  we  should 
attempt  to  climb  up  to  his  home,  then 
he  gives  a  warning  krraak,  krraak,  and 
the  hen  is  seen,  by  those  who  know  the 
exact  locality  of  the  nest,  to  slip  off  her 
eggs,  and  fly  close  in  to  the  rocks  for  a 
hundred  yards  or  more  before  showing 
herself.  The  nest  is  often  cunningly 


THE    RAVEN    STOOD    ON    GUARD    ON 
ABOVE    THE    NEST. 


THE  NEST  ON  THE   GREY   CRAG       113 

concealed  amongst  the  thick  ivy,  and  the 
few  sticks  which  may  project  above  the 
ledge  are  difficult  to  spot  as  we  climb 
about  the  face  of  the  cliff.  Incubation 
lasts  three  weeks,  and  as  soon  as  the 
young  appear  the  old  birds  are  very  bold, 
and  show  instant  fight  if  any  other  large 
bird  should  go  near  their  home.  I  have 
seen  many  a  fight  between  a  Buzzard  and 
an  angry  Raven,  and  the  Raven  is  usually 
victorious.  Near  one  nest  that  I  found, 
a  Rock  Dove  had  her  nest,  and  when  the 
young  Ravens  appeared  on  the  scene,  the 
Dove  had  very  great  difficulty  in  getting 
to  or  from  her  nest,  for  the  instant  she 
showed  herself  the  male  Raven  would 
dash  after  her,  and  with  his  great  wings 
hissing  as  he  cut  through  the  air,  chase 
her  for  a  mile  down  the  valley.  Time 
after  time  I  saw  her  making  attempts  to 
reach  her  eggs,  but  he  went  at  her  in  a 
most  desperate  manner  each  time  she 
appeared. 


ii4  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

There  is  one  green  dingle  that  I  have 
often  visited,  it  is  like  a  beautiful  little 
oasis  in  a  grey  desert,  and  in  this  a 
vicious  pair  of  Ravens  had  their  home. 
When  they  had  young  they  would  not 
allow  any  creature  to  come  near  that 
dingle  without  attacking  them,  and  one 
morning  a  Kestrel  flying  over  entered 
the  glen  and  began  hovering.  Instantly 
the  Raven  dashed  out  at  the  smaller  bird, 
and  for  some  minutes  the  Kestrel,  with 
greater  powers  of  flight,  just  toyed  with 
the  larger  bird,  and  twisted  and  turned 
about  him  as  he  darted  down  towards 
him.  Round  and  round  they  went,  their 
wings  whistling  as  they  fought,  the  Raven 
all  the  time  rising  above  his  enemy  and 
making  a  wild  dash  down  at  him.  It 
was  a  wonderful  exhibition  of  flight,  and 
one  hardly  knew  which  to  admire  most, 
the  small  graceful  Kestrel,  as  it  glided  up 
and  down,  round  and  about,  or  the  great 
powerful  black  bird,  as  with  wild  cries 


THE  NEST  ON  THE   GREY  CRAG      115 

he  dashed  at  his  opponent.  Whether  the 
Kestrel  misjudged  the  speed  of  the  Raven, 
or  whether  he  "slipped"  in  his  flight,  it 
is  impossible  to  say ;  but  with  one  of 
those  great  rushes  the  Raven  for  a  moment 
seemed  to  be  mixed  up  with  the  Kestrel, 
and  the  next  second  the  smaller  bird, 
lifeless  and  with  his  head  completely 
severed  from  his  body,  just  tumbled  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  glen,  and  the  Raven, 
with  one  or  two  loud  cries,  went  back  to 
the  rock  over  his  nest.  It  was  not  easy 
to  see  what  really  happened,  but  I  think 
the  bird's  head  was  severed  with  a  stroke 
from  the  wing  of  his  enemy. 

It  is  not  often  that  the  Raven  will 
attack  a  human  being,  for  I  have  noticed 
that,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  the  birds 
will  leave  their  nest  long  before  we  reach 
it,  and  will  not  be  seen  while  we  remain 
in  the  immediate  locality ;  but  two  years 
ago  I  spent  three  hours  in  the  company 
of  the  boldest  pair  of  Ravens  that  I  have 


ii6  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

ever  come  across.  One  bright  April  morn- 
ing, I  climbed  up  the  three  hundred  feet 
of  sloping  slate  cliff  and  was  able  to  get 
within  about  ten  feet  of  the  nest,  and  as  I 
approached  the  two  old  birds  became  very 
vicious  and  circled  over  my  head  calling 
loudly.  I  thought  that  here  was  a  good 
opportunity  for  obtaining  photographs  of 
the  birds,  for  they  repeatedly  settled  on 
the  rocks  not  more  than  four  yards  from 
me.  I  exposed  a  few  plates  that  morning, 
and  decided  to  make  another  visit  with  a 
companion.  A  few  days  later  the  local 
gamekeeper  accompanied  me,  and  long 
before  we  were  able  to  get  to  the  nest 
the  birds  began  calling.  I  was  equipped 
with  a  good  supply  of  plates,  and  placed 
myself  on  a  convenient  ledge  on  the  face 
of  the  cliff  and  level  with  the  nest.  The 
female  bird  was  far  more  bold  than  her 
mate,  and  she  mounted  up  to  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  our  heads, 
then  came  down  like  a  great  feathered 


THE  NEST  ON   THE   GREY  CRAG       117 

dart  towards  us.  It  was  an  exciting 
experience  to  sit  on  that  narrow  ledge, 
with  this  large  bird  darting  down  towards 
us,  and  on  one  or  two  occasions  the  bird 
came  alarmingly  near.  The  gamekeeper 
made  the  suggestion  that  if  he  tied  a  red 
pocket-handkerchief  at  the  end  of  a  fish- 
ing rod  and  held  this  in  front  of  the 
nest,  it  might  make  the  almost  fully 
fledged  young  call  out,  and  so  bring  the 
old  bird  in  a  convenient  position  for 
photographic  purposes.  This  little  sug- 
gestion of  his  worked  even  better  than 
he  anticipated,  for  the  instant  the  mother 
heard  her  young  call,  she  came  down  at 
a  most  tremendous  speed  towards  the 
man,  struck  him  upon  his  head  with  her 
claws  and  knocked  his  hat  over  the  edge 
of  the  cliff!  This  was  the  only  time  that 
the  bird  really  struck  us,  but  for  the 
whole  of  the  three  hours  she  was  swoop- 
ing at  us.  The  male  bird  was  not  quite 
so  bold  as  his  mate ;  he  contented  himself 


n8  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

with  sitting  on  the  rocks  above  my  head, 
and  he  repeatedly  picked  up  small  pieces 
of  rock  and  threw  them  towards  me ;  he 
also  settled  on  a  bush  growing  from  the 
face  of  the  cliff,  and  in  his  great  anger 
broke  off  some  of  the  branches,  tore 
them  to  shreds  with  his  powerful  beak, 
and  threw  the  pieces  over  the  edge  of 
the  cliff.  All  the  time  the  two  birds  were 
giving  out  their  wild  "bark,"  and  if  a 
Jackdaw  or  any  other  bird  came  near, 
they  left  us  for  a  moment  and  dashed 
madly  after  the  fresh  intruder.  It  was 
a  most  exciting  three  hours,  a  time  to 
be  remembered,  and  when  we  once  again 
reached  the  valley,  and  got  away  from 
the  wild  cries  and  the  whistling  of  the 
birds'  wings  as  they  attacked  us,  we 
seemed  to  be  standing  in  a  place  of  peace 
after  a  violent  storm.  In  my  photographic 
work  I  have  been  attacked  by  all  kinds 
of  birds  large  and  small,  but  never  have 
I  come  across  quite  such  an  interesting 


THE  NEST  ON   THE   GREY  CRAG       119 

pair  of   birds    as    this  remarkable  pair  of 
Welsh  Ravens. 

The  Raven  is  the  scavenger  of  the 
hills.  He  eats  all  kinds  of  carrion,  but 
he  is  a  wary  bird,  and  before  going  to 
a  carcass  he  likes  to  see  another  bird 
there  before  him.  He  does  practically  no 
harm,  and  he  will  not  attack  a  lamb  while 
it  is  alive.  I  have  repeatedly  been 
violently  criticised  by  naturalists  who 
probably  have  never  seen  a  Welsh 
Raven  in  a  wild  state  for  making  this 
statement,  but  I  know  my  facts  and  my 
bird,  and  I  have  spent  many  months  in 
his  company  on  the  wild  hills  during 
the  past  ten  years.  The  Raven  will  not 
attack  living  lambs,  and  added  to  my 
own  experience  I  have  the  evidence  of 
dozens  of  shepherds  to  support  me.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Carrion  Crow  will 
attack  lambs,  and  many  of  his  sins  are 
put  upon  the  head  of  the  Raven.  The 
Crow  is  a  desperate  robber,  especially 


120  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

if  the  weather  should  be  at  all  hard,  but 
the  Raven  is  really  a  useful  bird,  and  I 
am  glad  to  say  that,  owing  to  the  pro- 
tection accorded  him,  he  is  increasing  in 
numbers  in  that  part  of  Wales  which  I 
know  and  love  so  well. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   CRADLE   IN   THE   REEDS 

the  eastern  side  of  the  lake  there 
was  a  long  fringe  of  reeds.  These 
varied  in  width ;  in  some  spots  they  were 
twenty  yards  wide,  and  in  other  places 
only  a  few  feet  divided  the  bank  from 
the  open  water.  Beyond  the  reeds  on  the 
banks  grew  a  whole  host  of  wild  flowers, 
and  in  the  months  of  spring  it  was 
nothing  more  or  less  than  a  bower  of 
sweet-scented  blossoms,  filled  with  a 
chorus  of  song  from  the  throats  of  a 
thousand  birds.  The  reeds  ended  in  a 
small  creek,  and  here  the  still  water  was 
overgrown  with  weeds,  and  later  on  in 
the  year  we  saw  the  baby  Moorhens 
running  about  on  the  leaves  of  water- 


122  BIRD   BIOGRAPHIES 

lilies  and  other  aquatic  plants,  picking 
up  insects  and  enjoying  their  little  lives. 

Year  after  year,  into  this  creek  came 
two  small  birds.  Whether  it  was  the 
same  pair  each  season  it  was  not  easy 
to  say,  but  as  surely  as  we  heard  the 
Cuckoo's  loud  call,  or  listened  to  the 
twitter  of  the  Swallows  as  they  darted 
over  the  lake,  as  surely  did  we  hear  the 
chatty  little  song  of  the  Reed-Warblers, 
for  as  soon  as  they  had  completed  their 
long  journey  from  the  south,  they  seemed 
to  settle  down  in  their  home  and  begin 
to  look  out  for  the  site  for  their  nest. 
Day  after  day  they  could  be  seen  in  the 
waving  reeds,  talking  harshly  all  the 
time ;  but  although  there  seemed  at  first 
to  be  a  deal  of  uncertainty  about  the 
actual  site,  they  always  eventually  settled 
on  practically  the  same  spot  as  they  used 
in  previous  years. 

The  most  difficult  part  of  the  nest 
building  was  fixing  the  foundations ; 


: 


REED  WARBLER'S  NEST. 


THE  MALE  BIRD'S  NEST. 

[Page  122 


THE  CRADLE  IN  THE  REEDS    123 

grasses  were  carried  to  the  reeds,  and 
some  of  these  were  twisted  round  the 
stems  so  that  other  grasses  would  lodge 
on  them.  And  as  the  little  pile  of 
grasses  grew,  the  female  Reed-Warbler 
stood  on  it,  and  slowly  twisted  round 
and  round,  arranging  the  grasses  with 
her  beak  in  a  very  clever  manner.  She 
pushed  them  in  and  out,  twisted  some 
together,  and  with  her  Abreast  pressing 
against  the  side,  she  made  it  a  beautiful 
cup-shape.  The  male  bird  brought  the 
grasses  to  her,  and  she  did  most  of  the 
building.  As  the  nest  grew,  the  outside 
grasses  which  were  fastened  to  the  reeds 
were  strengthened  with  cobwebs  which 
bound  them  still  tighter  to  the  four 
stems  supporting  the  nest.  At  the  end 
of  a  fortnight  the  nest  was  finished,  and 
a  beautiful  and  neat  home  it  was.  The 
birds  had  made  it  very  deep  considering 
the  small  size  of  the  nest,  but  they 
knew  that  the  winds  would  blow  it 


I24  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

about,  and  unless  it  was  deep  the  eggs 
would  roll  out,  but  this  was  deep  enough 
to  prevent  such  a  thing  happening  in  the 
most  violent  storm  that  might  rock  it. 

Four  eggs  were  laid,  and  for  a  fort- 
night the  little  sitter  was  rocked  to  and 
fro ;  sometimes  the  nest  swung  more  than 
eighteen  inches  from  side  to  side,  but 
the  bird  sat  there  as  perfectly  as  if  she 
had  been  part  of  the  nest,  and  the 
biggest  gust  of  wind  never  shifted  her. 
Her  mate  was  most  diligent  in  feeding 
her,  and  I  do  not  think  there  is  a 
prettier  sight  in  the  world  than  that  of 
a  male  bird  feeding  his  sitting  mate.  I 
have  seen  it  many  times  when  watching 
the  birds,  and  to  me  it  is  always  fasci- 
nating. But  the  male,  besides  feeding  his 
mate  and  singing,  seems  to  have  a  lot 
of  spare  time,  and  in  this  he  surely  does 
a  very  strange  thing.  It  is  a  habit 
peculiar  to  all  the  male  members  of  the 
Warbler  family  while  their  mates  are 


THE   CRADLE  IN  THE  REEDS        125 

sitting.  He  collects  grasses,  and  attempts 
to  build  a  dummy  nest,  and  when  he 
has  failed  with  this  he  begins  another 
and  another,  and  often  will  build  four. 
Why  he  does  this  I  cannot  tell,  but  my 
photographs  will  show  the  vast  difference 
between  the  beautiful  nest  made  by  the 
female  bird  and  that  built  by  her  mate ! 
I  have  known  the  Garden-Warbler  to 
build  five  of  these  dummy  nests.  The 
Blackcap  also  occupies  his  time  in  this 
way.  I  once  heard  a  Blackcap  singing 
loudly  in  a  small  isolated  bush  by  the 
stream  side.  I  knew  that  his  mate  was 
sitting  on  her  eggs  in  a  bush  not  far  away, 
so  I  thought  I  would  like  to  see  how 
near  I  could  stalk  to  the  bush  without 
driving  the  bird  away.  Going  silently 
forward,  I  was  able  to  get  right  up  to 
the  bush,  and  still  the  bird  sang. 
Noiselessly  I  moved  the  leaves  aside,  and 
there  saw  a  pretty  sight.  There  was  the 
Blackcap  upon  his  dummy  nest ;  he  was 


126  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

turning  round  and  round,  doing  his 
utmost  to  make  the  little  heap  of  grasses 
into  the  shape  of  a  nest.  He  seemed  to 
be  hopelessly  entangled  in  them,  yet  he 
was  as  happy  as  the  sunshine,  for  he 
sang  loudly  over  his  work.  Suddenly 
he  looked  up  and  saw  two  human  eyes 
looking  down  at  him.  The  effect  was 
remarkable,  for  he  stopped  in  his  work, 
ceased  his  song,  and  the  next  second  flew 
away,  and  as  far  as  I  could  tell  he  never 
returned  to  his  dummy  nest  again  ! 

When  the  young  arrive,  the  parents 
are  most  diligent  in  obtaining  food  for 
them,  and  from  sunrise  to  sunset  they 
work  hard.  For  the  first  few  days,  when 
the  young  are  very  small,  one  bird  will 
remain  brooding  on  them,  while  the 
other  searches  for  food.  They  take  turns 
at  this,  and  immediately  after  feeding  the 
young  the  bird  settles  down  upon  them 
and  waits  until  it  hears  its  mate  coming 
through  the  reeds ;  then  it  jumps  up  and 


REED  WARBLER  AND  HER  YOUNG. 


[Page  ,26 


THE   CRADLE  IN  THE  REEDS        127 

quickly  goes  off  in  search  of  food,  while 
the  one  which  has  just  arrived  at  the 
nest  will  protect  the  young  until  the 
other  returns.  By  doing  this  they  are 
able  to  keep  their  young  warm  all  through 
the  day,  and  also  keep  them  provided 
with  a  good  supply  of  food. 

When  the  young  are  able  to  leave  the 
nest,  even  before  they  can  fly,  they  are 
very  clever  climbers.  Their  legs  seem  to 
be  stronger  than  their  wings,  and  they 
climb  about  the  reeds  with  the  greatest 
dexterity.  If  one  should  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  fall  into  the  water,  the  parents 
will  flutter  over  it  calling  excitedly.  The 
baby  will  show  very  little  signs  of  fear, 
for  it  just  flaps  its  wings,  and  kicks 
about  until  it  reaches  another  reed,  then 
it  quickly  climbs  up  it. 

While  I  was  photographing  the  young, 
I  noticed  a  very  interesting  fact  which 
goes  to  prove  that  the  bird  remembered 
which  young  it  had  fed.  The  two  babies 


128  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

were  sitting  on  a  branch  as  seen  in  my 
photograph,  and  the  parent  had  just  given 
food  to  the  baby  next  to  her  immediately 
before  the  plate  was  exposed.  She  was 
absent  for  about  ten  minutes,  and  on  her 
return  with  food  she  no  doubt  remembered 
that  baby  number  one  had  been  fed,  for 
as  soon  as  she  settled  on  the  branch  the 
first  baby  made  great  efforts  to  take  the 
insects  from  her,  but  the  mother  just 
ignored  it,  and  lifting  her  head  over  the 
head  of  the  bird  next  to  her,  popped  the 
food  into  the  beak  of  baby  number  two ! 
It  was  interesting  to  notice  how  she  fed 
her  young  in  turns. 

All  through  the  months  of  May  and 
June  the  birds  kept  to  their  corner  of 
the  lake,  and  each  time  I  went  near  their 
home  they  did  their  utmost  to  drive  me 
away  with  loud,  angry  cries.  I  could  see 
them  with  their  crests  raised  as  they 
swung  to  and  fro  on  the  swaying  reeds, 
and  even  when  I  had  left,  it  seemed  to 


THE  REED  WARBLER 


REED  WARBLERS  AT  THEIR  XEST. 


THE  CRADLE  IN  THE  REEDS    129 

take  them  some  minutes  to  settle  down 
again.  In  July,  when  the  reeds  had 
grown  up,  and  they  had  ceased  to  sing, 
I  lost  sight  of  them,  but  the  sudden  jerk 
of  a  reed  stem  or  the  sound  of  wings 
told  me  that  my  birds  were  still  there ; 
but  with  the  approach  of  autumn  they, 
with  the  numerous  young  birds,  flew  away 
to  the  South,  for  these  little  travellers 
must  live  in  a  perpetual  summer,  where 
they  are  able  to  obtain  plenty  of  insect 
food. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   LAKE   IN   THE  VALLEY 

TT  was  a  small  lake  in  a  small 
•*•  valley.  When  I  first  saw  it,  the 
whole  of  the  still  surface  was  tinted 
red  from  the  sunset's  glow.  It  was 
one  of  those  still,  silent  evenings  of 
spring,  when  Nature  seems  to  rest  for 
awhile  during  her  great  and  wonderful 
awakening.  All  around  there  was  a 
chorus  of  song.  It  was  difficult  to 
pick  out  one  distinct  song,  for  Thrushes, 
Blackbirds,  Skylarks,  Sedge- Warblers  and 
Reed-Warblers  seemed  determined  to  out- 
do each  other  in  giving  out  the  loudest 
music.  But  one  by  one  the  birds  which 
sang  such  rich  notes  to  the  setting 

sun    ceased,  and   when    the    Cuckoo    was 

130 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE    VALLEY          131 

calling  his  last  evening  notes,  two  birds 
swam  out  into  the  centre  of  the  lake. 
The  long  V-shaped  ripples  first  called 
my  attention  to  them.  They  were  ad- 
vancing from  different  directions,  and 
when  about  twenty  yards  separated  them 
I  heard  their  loud  and  curious  calls. 
Kee-u-war,  kee-u-war  it  sounded  like, 
and  every  time  they  uttered  it  I  saw 
their  long  necks  raised,  and  the  frills 
around  their  necks  were  opened  out, 
and  the  crests  on  their  heads  were 
raised.  I  knew  the  two  Great-crested 
Grebes  were  rivals,  but  each  seemed 
afraid  or  unwilling  to  attack,  and  there 
they  remained  for  a  time,  continually 
giving  out  the  loud  calls  and  swimming 
round  each  other. 

Before  the  red  tinge  had  left  the  water, 
a  third  Grebe  swam  out  from  the 
reeds,  and  almost  immediately  the  two 
birds  prepared  for  battle.  They  swam 
towards  each  other,  and  their  long  necks 


132  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

were  laid  flat  on  the  water,  their  wings 
were  raised  in  the  form  of  a  shield  over 
their  backs,  and  they  advanced  one 
towards  the  other.  When  they  met, 
their  necks  were  lifted  and  each  gave  the 
other  a  few  harmless  pecks,  and  each 
retreated.  Once  again  they  advanced 
and  the  same  thing  happened,  and  for 
ten  or  fifteen  minutes  this  rather  weak 
battle  continued.  The  hen  bird,  which 
was  the  third  bird  which  appeared,  took 
very  little  notice  of  the  fighters,  and  it 
was  principally  this  fact  which  caused 
the  two  male  Grebes  to  fight  in  such 
a  tame  manner.  However,  before  it 
was  too  dark  for  me  to  observe  their 
movements  they  went  for  each  other  in 
a  really  desperate  manner,  and  I  saw 
the  still  surface  of  the  lake  turned  into 
large  ripples,  and  the  fighters  were 
dashing  one  at  the  other  in  real  earnest. 
How  the  battle  ended  I  could  not  very 
well  see,  but  I  did  notice  that  the 


THE  GREAT  CRESTED  GREBE. 


THE  LAKE  IN   THE    VALLEY          133 

vanquished  bird  had  left  the  water  and 
was  flying  hurriedly  away  to  a  neigh- 
bouring lake  with  the  victorious  Grebe 
chasing  it. 

In  one  corner  of  the  lake  there  was 
a  small  creek,  with  a  quantity  of  young 
reeds  making  their  appearance ;  it  was 
in  this  corner  that  the  two  Grebes 
determined  to  build  their  nest.  It  so 
happened  that  a  pair  of  Coots  also  had 
their  home  here — and  the  Coot  is  a  bird 
which  likes  privacy — and  when  they  saw 
the  Grebes  appearing  here,  in  their  own 
corner  of  the  lake,  they  were  very  much 
annoyed  and  determined  to  put  a  stop 
to  this  trespassing.  The  Grebes,  how- 
ever, were  a  match  for  the  Coots  and 
determined  to  stay,  and  stay  they  did. 

I  watched  them  building  their  nest. 
The  two  birds  kept  diving  to  the  bottom 
of  the  lake  and  bringing  up  large  beak- 
fuls  of  the  decaying  vegetation  lying  at 
the  bottom  ;  this  was  placed  on  the  water 


134  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

amongst  the  young  reeds,  other  material 
was  collected  from  the  surface  of  the 
lake,  and  while  the  hen  was  putting  the 
nest  into  shape,  her  mate  would  swim 
a  hundred  yards  or  more  and  come  back 
with  a  small  piece  of  weed  in  his  beak  ; 
then  handing  this  to  her — and  she  took 
it  as  if  she  thought  he  had  gone  through 
a  vast  amount  of  labour  for  such  a  small 
item — he  turned  round  and  went  off  in 
search  of  more.  With  such  energy  did 
the  birds  work,  that  in  less  than  two 
days  quite  a  good  nest  had  been  made. 
The  following  morning  this  contained 
one  egg,  and  while  one  bird  kept  guard 
near  the  nest,  the  other  was  a  distance 
from  it,  searching  for  food  in  the  deeper 
water.  The  Coots  now  seemed  to  take 
very  little  notice  of  the  Grebes,  but 
they  were  waiting  their  opportunity, 
and  later  on  in  the  day  both  Grebes  left 
their  corner,  no  doubt  thinking  that  the 
egg  was  safe.  Very  soon  after  they 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE    VALLEY          135 

had  gone,  the  Coot  slipped  off  her  nest, 
crept  quietly  through  the  reeds,  and 
approaching  the  Grebes'  nest,  she  mounted 
this  and  viciously  attacked  it,  and  in 
a  very  few  moments  she  had  torn  it  to 
pieces.  She  tossed  the  egg  out,  scratched 
at  the  rather  loose  structure  with  her 
feet,  pulled  the  wet  weeds  apart  with  her 
beak,  and  did  not  stop  until  she  heard 
the  swish  of  wings  beating  the  water. 
But  before  the  Grebes  could  return  she 
was  back  at  her  own  nest,  and  there 
with  angry  calls  defied  them.  The 
Grebes  for  a  time  swam  around  the 
ruined  nest,  and  after  examining  it 
seemed  still  more  determined  to  defy 
the  Coots. 

The  spot  where  the  nest  had  been 
built  seemed  really  the  only  sheltered 
spot  with  the  exception  of  that  occupied 
by  the  Coots,  but  rather  than  run  the 
risk  of  having  their  home  destroyed  a 
second  time,  the  Grebes  commenced  to 


136  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

rebuild  their  nest  right  on  the  margin 
of  the  reeds,  and  quite  ten  feet  farther 
from  the  Coots.  With  tremendous  energy 
they  set  to  work,  using  the  old  materials 
again,  and  I  never  knew  a  nest  built 
quicker.  The  birds  commenced  to  build 
late  in  the  evening,  and  when  the  creek 
was  visited  the  following  morning  the 
hen  was  sitting  on  her  nest  and  it  con- 
tained one  egg.  This  was  the  second 
one  she  had  laid,  for  the  first  had  sunk, 
and  could  not  be  recovered.  I  noticed 
that  the  hen  did  not  leave  her  nest,  but 
sat  there  the  whole  day.  She  had  learnt 
a  lesson,  and  did  not  intend  to  let  the 
Coots  destroy  her  home  again.  A  day 
later  two  eggs  were  in  the  nest,  and 
then  a  new  danger  threatened  to  destroy 
it.  A  strong  wind  sprang  up  and 
blew  right  across  the  lake  towards  the 
creek.  The  nest  was  not  sheltered,  and 
it  looked  as  if  nothing  could  keep  it 
from  being  .washed  away.  The  hen  was 


GREAT-CRESTED    GREBE    SWIMMING 


THE  LAKE  IN   THE    VALLEY          137 

sitting,  but  she  looked  like  a  bird  on  a 
small  round  boat  on  a  rough  sea.  The 
nest,  which  was  only  an  inch  or  two 
above  the  water,  bent  up  and  down  as 
the  waves  rolled  in.  The  birds  knew 
their  danger,  and  again  showed  what 
determination  can  do.  The  male  bird 
worked  as  he  had  never  worked  before. 
He  swam  rapidly  to  a  sheltered  part  of 
the  lake,  then  dived  and  brought  up  a 
bunch  of  wet  weeds ;  hurrying  to  his 
mate  he  gave  these  to  her,  and  not  waiting 
a  moment  went  away  in  quest  of  more. 
All  the  morning  he  worked  like  this,  and 
every  time  he  brought  material  his  mate 
placed  it  on  the  nest  to  strengthen  it. 
The  result  was,  that  later  in  the  day 
the  nest  was  so  firm  that  it  withstood 
the  force  of  the  gale  ;  but  still  the  Grebes 
did  not  rest,  and  they  kept  adding  to 
their  home  until  it  had  been  raised  several 
inches.  I  could  not  help  admiring  their 
pluck  ;  I  have  seen  many  a  Grebe's  nest 


138  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

washed  away  in  more  secure  spots  than 
this  was  built  in.  I  remember  one  pair 
of  birds  which  had  particularly  bad  for- 
tune, for  twice  in  one  season,  after  the  full 
clutch  of  eggs  had  been  laid,  their  nests 
were  washed  away  by  gales.  The  birds 
certainly  showed  that  they  could  learn 
by  experience,  for  on  the  third  attempt 
at  nest-building  they  first  made  a  high 
pile  of  weeds,  quite  nine  inches  above  the 
water,  and  the  nest  proper,  constructed 
of  wet  water  weeds,  was  built  on  top 
of  this. 

For  three  weeks  the  birds  took 
their  turns  at  sitting,  then  two  small 
striped  birds  arrived  upon  the  scene. 
In  less  than  two  hours  after  they  had 
left  their  shells  they  took  to  the  water, 
and  so  much  at  home  were  they  in  this 
element  that  they  were  able  to  take  little 
dives,  or  perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct 
to  say  they  were  able  to  bob  under  the 
water  for  a  couple  of  inches.  They  were 


THE  LAKE  IN   THE    VALLEY          139 

quite  able  to  climb  on  to  their  father's 
back,  and  he  took  them  for  short 
journeys  from  the  nest,  and  caught  small 
fish  for  them.  Sometimes  they  made 
themselves  comfortable  under  his  wings, 
and  he  was  able  to  dive  with  them  in 
this  position  and  carry  them  quite  long  dis- 
tances under  the  water.  At  the  slightest 
sign  of  danger,  he  gave  a  short  note 
which  they  very  soon  learnt  to  obey,  and 
instantly  scrambled  under  his  wings,  and 
just  a  few  ripples  on  the  water  showed 
where  he  had  gone  down.  These  two 
young  birds  seemed  to  be  his  own 
special  property,  and  his  mate  continued 
to  sit  for  another  three  days.  At  the 
end  of  this  time  two  more  fluffy  babies 
arrived,  and  the  hen  took  charge  of 
these.  They  did  not  return  to  the  nest, 
although  one  egg  was  left  in  it.  For 
many  weeks  the  parents  looked  after  the 
young,  and  it  was  very  interesting  to 
note  how  the  two  young  birds  which  left 


140  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

their  shells  first,  remained  close  to  the 
male,  while  the  second  two  clung  to 
their  mother. 

In  another  corner  of  the  lake,  where 
the  trees  overhung  the  water,  a  pair  of 
Little  Grebes  had  built  their  nest. 
Owing  to  their  extreme  shyness  they 
were  not  so  easy  to  watch  as  the  larger 
Grebes,  but  by  building  a  small  hiding 
place  on  the  water  and  surrounding  this 
with  dried  reeds  I  was  able  to  observe 
them  at  their  nest  from  a  distance  of  six 
feet.  When  the  hen  first  arrived  at  the 
nest  she  seemed  very  suspicious,  and 
although  she  was  in  deep  water  she  just 
raised  her  head  above  the  surface  so  that 
her  eyes  and  beak  could  be  seen,  and 
she  remained  in  this  strange  position  for 
just  twenty  minutes.  It  was  a  game  of 
patience  between  the  photographer  and 
the  bird,  and  I  am  glad  to  say  the 
photographer  won  and  I  secured  a  good 
set  of  pictures. 


. 


THE  LAKE  IN   THE    VALLEY          141 

There  was  a  Coot's  nest  close  to  this 
Grebe's  nest,  but  the  birds  seemed  on 
friendly  terms.  The  nests  were  so  close 
together  that  I  was  able  to  photograph 
both  birds  from  my  one  hiding  place. 
When  I  discovered  the  nests  I  was  very 
much  surprised  to  find  that  the  Little 
Grebe's  nest  contained  three  of  her  own 
eggs  and  one  laid  by  the  Coot !  This 
clearly  showed  that  the  Coot  on  one 
occasion  at  least  had  mistaken  her  home, 
and  she  probably  spent  a  night  on  the 
Grebe's  nest,  but  whether  the  Grebe  re- 
taliated by  sitting  on  the  Coot's  eggs  I 
cannot  say.  In  one  of  my  bioscope 
pictures  I  was  able  to  photograph  the 
Little  Grebe  standing  immediately  under 
the  Coot's  nest,  but  I  was  not  able  to 
get  pictures  of  the  Coot  near  the  Grebe. 

I  was  particularly  struck  with  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  Grebe  covered 
her  eggs  over.  If  anything  alarmed 
her,  she  jumped  up  on  the  nest,  threw 


I42  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

wet  water  weeds  over  her  eggs,  com- 
pletely covering  them,  slipped  off  and 
dived  in  ten  seconds.  When  returning 
after  an  alarm  she  always  came  along 
under  the  water,  and  when  close  to 
the  nest  just  slowly  lifted  her  head 
above  the  surface,  not  making  a  ripple 
in  doing  this,  and  looked  well  around 
before  showing  her  body. 

Very  soon  after  the  young  left  the 
shells  I  visited  the  nest,  and  just  to 
see  what  would  happen  I  showed 
myself  instead  of  going  into  my  usual 
hiding  place.  The  young  were  swim- 
ming near  the  nest,  and  when  they 
saw  me  made  comical  efforts  to  dive  ; 
they  just  went  under,  then  popped  up 
again.  The  mother  was  in  a  state  of 
great  excitement,  she  hurriedly  swam 
away,  and  called  her  five  young  to  her. 
The  note  of  alarm  is  not  easy  to  put 
into  words,  but  it  might  be  described 
by  the  word  peuf  uttered  as  a  loud 


THE  LAKE  IN  THE    VALLEY         143 

musical  note.  Peuf,  peuf,  peuf  called 
the  Grebe,  and  her  five  babies  swam 
quickly  to  her ;  as  soon  as  they  reached 
her  all  of  them  quickly  scrambled  under 
her  wings,  she  dived  with  the  whole 
family,  and  swam  a  good  distance  under 
the  water,  carrying  them  to  a  place 
of  safety. 

I  did  not  see  them  again,  for  there 
are  few  birds  which  are  so  successful 
in  concealing  themselves  as  the  Little 
Grebe. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE    HOME    IN   THE    OLD    STONE    BRIDGE 

T  N  a  large  cavity,  right  underneath  the 
•*•  old  moss-covered  bridge,  where  a 
stone  had  tumbled  out  during  a  heavy 
flood,  a  pair  of  Dippers  had  built  their 
home.  It  reminded  one  of  a  large  nest  of 
the  Wren.  It  was  domed  over,  and  had 
a  hole  at  the  side  just  large  enough  to 
admit  the  bird.  There  was  a  tremendous 
amount  of  material  in  that  nest,  and  it 
took  the  two  birds  a  fortnight  to  build, 
and  they  worked  hard  at  it  too,  from 
early  morning  until  sunset,  just  going 
off  for  short  excursions  for  food.  The 
walls  were  so  solid,  and  the  moss  with 
which  it  was  constructed  was  so  well 
worked  together,  that  no  water  would 


HOME  IN   THE   OLD  STONE  BRIDGE     145 

penetrate  through.  Large  drops  of  water 
were  rolling  down  from  the  sides  and 
top  of  the  low  tunnel  through  which  the 
small  mountain  stream  passed  on  its 
way  to  the  larger  river  only  a  few  feet 
away.  Some  of  the  drops  fell  upon  the 
nest  itself,  but  the  inside  where  the  five 
white  eggs  were  concealed  was  quite 
dry.  It  was  a  wonderful  home,  built  by 
wonderful  birds. 

I  well  remember,  when  a  boy,  how 
I  used  to  devour  all  articles  dealing 
with  bird  life  that  I  could  come  across. 
One  of  these  dealt  with  the  Dipper, 
and  I  longed  to  see  that  water  bird 
more  than  any  other.  Twelve  years  ago 
I  first  saw  the  bird,  and  it  has  fascinated 
me  ever  since.  The  nest  of  which  I  am 
writing  was  on  the  same  stream  as  the 
one  where  I  first  saw  the  bird.  I  have 
visited  this  spot  every  year  since,  some- 
times twice  and  three  times  in  the  course 
of  twelve  months,  for  on  every  opportunity 
10 


146  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

I  run  oft  to  the  mountains  of  wild  Wales, 
and  in  a  delightful  little  inn,  surrounded 
with  hills  and  tumbling  streams,  I  have 
spent  some  of  my  happiest  days. 

Let  us  follow  the  stream  up  to  the 
hills.  As  we  wander  along,  climbing 
over  rough  boulders  and  going  carefully 
over  marshy  ground,  the  stream  gets 
quickly  smaller,  and  before  we  have  gone 
three  miles  it  is  not  a  yard  wide,  and 
not  very  much  farther  on,  amongst  a 
tract  of  rushes  and  coarse  mountain 
grass,  is  its  source.  But  the  Dipper  is 
not  up  here ;  we  must  go  to  where  the 
water  falls  over  the  rocks,  and  runs 
tossing  and  tumbling  over  stones,  or  to 
where  it  rushes  through  deep  gullies,  and 
there  we  are  sure  to  find  him.  On  this 
stream  there  are  several  pairs,  but  they 
keep  to  their  own  stretches  of  river.  One 
nest  was  actually  underneath  the  falling 
water  of  a  fall  about  ten  feet  high,  and 
the  birds  when  they  went  to  their  nest 


w*** 


HOME  IN   THE   OLD  STONE  BRIDGE     147 

had  to  dash  right  through  the  water  as 
it  fell  over  the  rocks.  This  nest  was 
built  when  the  river  was  low,  but  a  rise 
of  the  water  did  not  disturb  the  birds  in 
the  least ;  they  had  built  their  home  well 
underneath  the  rock,  and  although  a  large 
quantity  of  water  seemed  to  actually  wash 
right  over  the  nest,  it  was  really  in  a 
safe  spot,  and  the  birds  were  simply  put 
to  a  little  inconvenience  as  they  entered 
or  left  their  home.  But  what  did  this 
matter  to  the  Dipper !  Why,  the  bird 
revels  in  water,  and  I  have  seen  them 
dash  right  underneath  fast  running  water, 
and  come  up  a  moment  or  two  later  with 
food.  Another  nest  was  on  the  bank 
itself,  underneath  a  piece  of  overhanging 
turf. 

I  often  sat  on  a  rock  by  the  stream  side 
near  the  old  bridge  and  watched  the  birds. 
One,  I  knew,  was  sitting  on  the  eggs, 
and  the  other  had  just  left  her.  I  think 
he  had  been  taking  food  to  her,  and  now 


148  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

he   was   sitting  on   a   small  rock  in  mid- 
stream,  his  white   breast   looking    like    a 
snowball  when  the  sun  shone  upon  him. 
Not  for  a  moment   could   he   keep   still ; 
all  the  time  he  sat  there  he  was  bobbing 
up  and  down,  turning  round,  now  looking 
up    stream,    the    next    minute    flying    to 
another   rock   farther   down,    but    all    the 
time    he   was   moving.     He   was  coming 
nearer  to    me,  for    this  rock  on  which  I 
sat  was  near  the  entrance  to  his  bridge, 
but  he  did  not  mind    me  ;  he    discovered 
a  day  or  two  ago,  when   I  photographed 
him  and  his  mate,  that  no   harm  would 
befall  him.     A  short  way  up  stream  there 
was   a   narrow  space    through   which   the 
water  flowed,   and    this   was    a    favourite 
hunting-ground  of  his.     On  one  occasion 
I  was  fortunate  to  stalk  right  up  to  the 
grassy    bank    while     he    was    under    the 
water,  and  then,  peeping  over,  I  saw  him 
there.     He  came  up  for  breath,  then  went 
under    again.     The  water  was   clear   and 


THE  DIPPER. 


[Page  148 


HOME  IN  THE  OLD  STONE  BRIDGE    149 

I  could  see  all  his  movements.  He  faced 
the  stream,  walked  along  with  the  greatest 
ease  against  the  running  water,  and  with 
his  beak  he  turned  over  the  smaller  stones. 
I  could  see  him  picking  up  the  insects, 
and  it  was  really  wonderful  with  what 
quickness  he  snapped  these  up  before 
the  running  water  carried  them  away. 
Then  up  he  came,  mounted  a  stone,  shook 
his  feathers,  preened  his  wings,  hopped 
to  another  stone,  and  under  he  went 
again.  Over  the  pebbles  he  ran  with  the 
water  running  over  him,  and  when  he 
had  found  another  beakful  of  food  he 
hopped  out,  and  down  to  the  bridge  he 
went  with  a  gift  for  his  sitting  mate. 
Again  I  saw  him  in  another  part  of  the 
river,  where  the  water  ran  still  more 
swiftly,  and  he  dived  in  like  a  Kingfisher, 
making  a  great  splash,  and  brought  out 
something  which  he  carried  to  his  mate. 
The  Dipper  is  a  strange  bird.  He  has 
the  note  of  the  Kingfisher,  and  a  similar 


ISO  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

flight ;  he  builds  a  nest  like  the  Wren, 
is  as  much  at  home  at  the  bottom  of  a 
river  as  he  is  in  the  air ;  he  has  a  short, 
but  loud  and  beautiful  song,  and  seems 
quite  at  ease  on  a  swaying  twig,  and  will 
sometimes  be  seen  at  the  top  of  tall  trees. 
He  belongs  to  the  mountain  streams,  and 
is  not  found  in  the  flat  country  where 
the  rivers  are  sluggish.  He  must  be 
where  the  waters  are  running  and  falling 
over  rocks,  in  those  spots  where  the 
music  of  the  hills  comes  from  their 
bubbling  rivers.  He  loves  the  roar  of 
the  falls,  and  delights  to  be  amongst 
their  spray ;  the  dampest  and  the  darkest 
spots  serve  for  his  nest,  and  he  goes  to 
the  same  old  haunt  in  each  succeeding 
year. 

One  morning  as  I  passed  the  bridge 
I  saw  both  birds  outside  on  the  rocks, 
and  I  guessed  that  the  nest  contained 
young.  There  were  four,  I  discovered,  for 
one  of  the  eggs  was  unfertile ;  I  removed 


HOME  IN   THE   OLD   STONE  BRIDGE     151 

this,    and    it    was   not    until    over    three 
weeks  later  that  I  saw  the  nest  again. 

There  was  a  great  commotion  under 
the  old  stone  bridge.  Loud,  shrill  cries 
greeted  me  as  I  neared  it ;  and  no  won- 
der, for  there,  sitting  on  the  moss-covered 
rocks  leading  to  the  larger  stream,  were 
some  quaint-looking  birds.  The  baby 
Dippers  had  for  the  first  time  left  their 
mossy  home,  and  were  looking  out  upon 
the  great  world  of  water  outside.  On  a 
rock  in  the  river  the  parents  sat,  bobbing 
up  and  down,  and  spreading  their  wings 
and  calling  loudly.  Backwards  and  for- 
wards they  went  to  their  young,  urging 
them  to  follow  them.  One  gave  a  hop 
and  slipped  down  into  the  water,  but, 
not  a  bit  scared  at  this  mishap,  he  fol- 
lowed them,  and  found  to  his  astonish- 
ment that  his  wings  would  carry  him 
wherever  he  wished  to  go.  The  other 
three  followed,  one  giving  the  quaintest 
little  hops  from  stone  to  stone,  as  though 


152  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

he  was  afraid  of  wetting  his  feet !  But 
down  the  river  they  all  went,  led  by 
their  parents  to  a  place  of  safety. 

That  evening  as  I  passed  the  old  bridge 
I  looked  down  the  big  stream,  and  there, 
on  a  large  rock  with  the  water  swirling 
round  it,  I  saw  the  Dipper — he  was  still 
bobbing. 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE  BIRDS   OF  COWSLIP   CORNER 

always  called  it  Cowslip  Corner, 
because  when  the  birds  had  their 
nests  in  the  little  bushes  there,  the 
beautiful  yellow  flowers  covered  the 
ground.  We  never  found  such  large 
cowslips  elsewhere ;  they  were  the  finest 
of  all  the  countryside,  and  if  you  picked 
a  large  bunch  from  that  small  corner, 
there  seemed  to  be  just  as  many  left.  It 
was  just  a  corner  of  a  coppice,  and  in 
the  months  of  April,  May,  and  June  was 
filled  with  song.  Hardly  a  minute  passed 
throughout  all  those  days  without  bird 
music  being  heard  there ;  and  the  night, 
too,  had  its  notes,  for  Sedge-Warblers, 


154  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

Reed  -  Warblers,  and  sometimes  the 
Nightingale  nested  close  by. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  warmth  that 
attracted  the  birds  to  Cowslip  Corner. 
On  the  south  and  east  side  was  a  high 
hedge  —  a  "Bullfinch"  hedge,  for  this 
Finch  loves  such  a  spot — while  on  the 
east,  protecting  it  from  the  winds,  were 
tall  trees  ;  the  west  was  open,  and  it  was 
when  the  setting  sun  sent  his  evening 
warmth  into  that  corner  that  the  birds 
sang  their  loudest,  sweetest,  and  best. 
All  through  May  the  bright  yellow  flowers 
bloomed,  on  into  June,  but  as  the  spring 
grew  older,  the  tall  grasses  and  numerous 
umbelliferous  plants,  ever  growing  higher, 
covered  them.  It  was  not  easy  to  dis- 
cover the  nests  when  the  leaves  were 
thick  on  the  bushes  and  the  grass  tall 
on  the  ground,  but  the  songs  always 
heard  there  told  us  that  the  singers  had 
their  small  homes  near. 

There   was    one    small   bird   that    sang 


WILLOW  WRENS  AT  THEIR  NEST. 


[Page  154 


THE  BIRDS   OF  COWSLIP   CORNER     155 

persistently  all  through  the  day.  He 
often  sat  on  the  topmost  twig  of  a  willow 
stem,  and  from  this  high  perch  the 
Willow-Wren  gave  out  his  pretty  undu- 
lating song  while  his  mate  was  sitting 
on  her  eggs.  I  knew  that  it  would  be 
a  hopeless  task  to  attempt  to  search  for 
their  nest  in  the  thick  grass,  so  I  waited 
until  they  had  young.  One  bright  day 
in  late  May  I  saw  the  two  birds  with 
food  in  their  beaks,  and  I  guessed  that 
the  young  had  arrived.  Hiding  behind 
a  small  bush  near  by,  I  waited  for  them 
to  drop  into  the  grass  and  so  show  me 
the  site  of  the  nest.  I  waited  and  waited, 
yet  those  birds  would  not  go  down. 
They  knew  that  I  was  near,  and  watching, 
and  refused  to  help  me.  One  bird,  the 
hen,  kept  flying  from  one  small  branch 
to  another  about  three  yards  apart,  and 
I  imagined  that  it  was  near  here  that  the 
nest  was  situated.  So  I  got  up,  and 
walked  right  away,  gave  the  birds  a  few 


156  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

minutes,  and  then  returned.  The  male 
had  ceased  his  song,  and  the  female  was 
not  to  be  seen.  I  stalked  silently  up  to 
the  spot  where  I  thought  the  nest  ought 
to  be,  struck  the  grass  with  my  stick, 
and  the  bird  flew  up  almost  from  my 
feet.  Parting  the  grass  aside,  I  saw  the 
most  cunningly  concealed  nest,  well  domed 
over  at  the  top,  and  with  a  very  small 
entrance.  On  opening  this,  five  big  open 
beaks  greeted  me,  and  the  mother  called 
me  a  lot  of  names  from  a  branch  close 
by.  It  is  remarkable  how  bold  these 
small  birds  are.  I  have  had  the  Willow- 
Wren  fly  right  at  me ;  it  spread  its  wings, 
opened  its  beak  and  hissed  at  me,  and 
even  tried  to  do  damage  by  inflicting 
some  tiny  pecks.  If  only  some  of  the 
larger  birds  were  as  bold  as  the  small 
Warblers  it  would  be  impossible  to  get 
near  their  nests. 

I  built  my  hiding  place   near   by,    and 
the  next  day  went  inside  with  my  camera 


WILLOW  WRENS  AT  THEIR  XEST. 


[I'age  156 


THE  BIRDS   OF  COWSLIP   CORNER     157 

and  bioscope.  While  securing  living 
photographs  I  saw  the  very  prettiest  little 
incident  that  I  have  ever  seen  while 
photographing  our  smaller  birds.  The 
female  was  inside  attending  to  her  young, 
when  her  mate  came  down  and  settled 
on  a  small  twig  just  above.  A  moment 
or  two  later  he  flew  to  the  nest,  and 
seeing  that  his  mate  was  inside  and 
busy,  he  waited  outside.  Very  patiently 
he  stood  there  just  at  the  entrance,  and 
lying  across  the  tip  of  his  beak  was  an 
insect.  He  kept  quite  motionless  until 
his  mate  had  finished  feeding  the  young 
with  the  food  that  she  had  brought. 
Suddenly  she  looked  up,  and  saw  her 
mate  there.  Instead  of  giving  way  and 
allowing  him  to  enter  the  nest,  she  went 
towards  him,  and  very  beautifully  lifted 
up  her  little  beak  and  tenderly  took  this 
love-gift  from  him.  As  soon  as  she  had 
done  this  he  flew  away  for  another  supply, 
and  she  handed  the  insect  to  one  of  her 


158  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

young.  With  my  bioscope  I  was  able  to 
secure  a  living  record  of  this  interesting 
scene. 

Another  song  that  we  always  heard  in 
Cowslip  Corner  was  that  of  the  Linnet. 
As  surely  as  the  flowers  bloomed,  he  and 
his  mate  built  their  nest  in  a  small  bush 
near  the  hedge.  It  was  a  little  song  and 
easily  drowned  in  the  chorus  from  Thrush, 
Blackbird,  Blackcap  and  Garden- Warbler, 
but  nevertheless  a  very  sweet  song  it 
was.  While  in  my  small  bird-watching 
tent,  I  often  had  him  singing  not  more 
than  a  yard  away,  and  between  each 
visit  to  the  nest  he  gave  out  a  few  notes. 
On  one  occasion  that  he  returned,  his 
mate  was  brooding  over  her  young.  He 
stood  on  the  nest  by  her  side,  and  when 
she  saw  he  had  food,  she  too  stood  up, 
and  he  began  to  feed  the  babies.  But 
she  called  to  him  with  tiny  twittering 
notes,  and  vibrated  the  tips  of  her  wings 
rapidly,  a  sure  sign  that  she  was  pleased, 


THE  BIRDS   OF  COWSLIP  CORNER    159 

and  presently  he  paused  in  his  work. 
She  opened  her  beak  and  he  handed  all 
the  remaining  food  to  her ;  she  almost 
immediately  passed  this  on  to  the  young, 
and  he  still  stood  there  watching  her. 
When  all  the  food  had  been  given  he 
did  a  pretty  thing.  I  do  not  know  if 
birds  ever  kiss,  but  it  certainly  looked 
like  it.  He  had  no  more  food  to  give 
her,  and  just  before  leaving  he  just  turned 
towards  her,  and  with  the  tip  of  his  own 
beak  he  gently  rubbed  hers !  The  next 
instant  he  turned  round  and  flew  away 
to  search  for  another  supply  of  food  ;  but 
on  his  journey  he  paused  a  moment,  and 
sang  a  few  little  notes  to  his  mate,  as 
she  went  again  to  her  young  and  covered 
them  with  her  warm  wings. 

In  a  bush  underneath  the  tall  trees  a 
Blackcap  had  its  home.  It  was  a  fragile 
structure,  and  when  I  discovered  it  one 
side  of  the  nest  had  broken  away  from 
its  supports,  and  an  egg  had  slipped  out 


160  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

and  was  lying  on  the  ground  underneath. 
Both  the  Garden-Warbler  and  Blackcap 
are  very  careless  nest  builders,  and  I 
have  often  seen  their  nests  falling  away 
from  the  branches.  I  fastened  this  Black- 
cap's nest  up  securely,  and  when  I 
visited  it  again  the  male  bird  was  sitting. 
I  have  often  noticed  that  in  that  part  of 
the  wood  occupied  by  the  Blackcap  the 
Garden- Warbler  is  absent ;  they  seem  to 
keep  to  their  respective  corners  of  the 
wood.  Perhaps  this  is  owing  to  their 
songs  being  alike,  for  some  birds,  and 
especially  the  smaller  ones,  are  desperate 
rivals.  Both  songs  are  very  fine,  but 
that  of  the  Blackcap  can  easily  be  dis- 
tinguished as  it  is  continued  often  for 
many  minutes,  while  the  Garden- Warbler 
gives  out  short  snatches  lasting  perhaps 
ten  or  fifteen  seconds.  The  actual  notes, 
however,  are  practically  the  same.  I 
once  had  the  good  fortune  to  hear  the 
Blackcap  and  the  Nightingale  singing  in 


THE  BIRDS   OF  COWSLIP  CORNER     161 

the  same  bush.  When  listening  to  the 
pure  loud  notes  of  the  Blackcap  I  have 
often  thought  that  surely  he  is  our  best 
feathered  singer,  but  when  I  heard  the 
two  birds  together  I  had  to  acknowledge 
that  the  Nightingale  was  the  best.  In 
the  hours  of  spring  when  so  many  birds 
are  singing,  and  when  in  the  general 
chorus  it  is  not  easy  to  pick  out  any 
individual  song,  the  Blackcap's  notes  are 
lost ;  if  we  could  hear  the  song  in  the 
silence  of  night  when  all  other  songs 
have  ceased,  we  should  appreciate  it  far 
more.  But  the  song  that  I  should  love 
to  hear  in  the  dead  of  night  is  that  of 
our  English  Thrush.  Some  of  the  birds 
that  I  have  heard  in  the  wild  hill 
country,  with  their  superior  notes,  far 
louder  and  purer  than  those  of  the  low- 
lands, would  draw  thousands  to  their 
leafy  concert-hall,  if  only  they  would 
sing  when  all  other  songs  were  silent. 
It  is  the  silence  and  the  darkness  that 
ii 


162  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

gives  such  charm  to  the  Nightingale's 
song,  and  when  we  hear  one  singing,  as 
we  often  do  in  the  light  of  day,  the 
music' loses  half  its  charm. 

The  Whitethroat  always  has  its  nest 
in  Cowslip  Corner,  but  I  have  never  been 
able  to  find  it,  for  a  Whitethroat  knows 
as  well  as  any  of  the  Warblers  how  to 
conceal  its  nest.  It  is  a  clever  bird,  full 
of  all  kinds  of  little  ruses  to  attract  you 
away.  The  male  will  sing  continuously 
over  a  certain  bush,  knowing  well  that  you 
are  watching,  and  all  the  time  the  nest  is 
in  quite  a  different  spot.  I  once  went 
towards  a  bush  in  which  I  knew  there 
was  a  Whitethroat's  nest,  and  as  I  passed 
it,  the  small  brown  bird  just  tumbled  out 
of  the  nest  and  lay  upon  the  ground  at 
my  feet.  It  was  not  dead,  for  I  could  see 
it  panting  ;  one  wing  was  hanging  helpless 
at  its  side,  and  a  leg  apparently  broken 
was  sticking  out  from  under  its  tail. 
What  was  wrong  ?  I  had  struck  the  bush 


THE  BIRDS   OF  COWSLIP   CORNER     163 

with  my  stick,  but  not  the  bird.  I  stooped 
down  to  pick  it  up,  but  with  a  plaintive 
cry  it  dragged  itself  along  the  ground. 
I  followed,  still  trying  to  capture  it.  Just 
out  of  my  reach  it  kept,  crying  piteously, 
and  with  that  broken  wing  hanging  limp 
by  its  side.  When  I  had  followed  for 
over  twenty  yards,  I  cried,  "  I  will  capture 
you,"  and  jumped  forward.  So  did  the 
bird  !  Suddenly  she  changed,  no  longer 
was  she  a  wounded  bird,  and  flew  up  with 
a  jaunty  flight,  settled  on  a  high  branch, 
and  with  a  few  lively  notes  asked  me  how 
I  liked  being  "  had."  The  Whitethroat 
had  played  a  clever  ruse,  and  attracted 
the  supposed  enemy  away  from  her 
precious  eggs. 

Each  spring  the  Thrushes  had  their 
nests  in  Cowslip  Corner,  and  from  the 
time  when  the  blue  and  white  violets 
peeped  above  the  green  grass,  until  the 
wild  roses  had  faded  from  the  bushes,  their 
songs  were  heard.  In  one  small  bush  a 


1 64  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

Thrush  and  Linnet  built  their  nests  almost 
side  by  side,  and  I  was  able  to  obtain  some 
bioscope  pictures  of  both  birds  at  their 
nests  at  the  same  time.  Another  nest 
was  built  in  a  little  pile  of  cut  branches 
thrown  upon  the  ground,  and  when  the 
young  were  a  week  old  a  Stoat  pulled  the 
nest  down  and  carried  away  the  young. 
The  feathers  of  the  mother  bird  lying 
all  around  showed  how  desperately  she 
had  fought  for  her  babies,  but  without 
avail.  Blackbirds,  Greenfinches,  and 
Hedge  -  Sparrows,  all  had  their  nests 
there.  I  have  never  come  across  such  a 
small  corner  which  contained  so  many 
nests.  On  some  occasions  I  have  taken 
my  bird-watching  shelter  there  at  the 
beginning  of  the  season,  and  left  it  there 
until  the  birds  had  finished  nesting,  and 
I  have  been  kept  busy  photographing  all 
the  time.  I  never  go  into  Cowslip  Corner 
in  winter  or  summer  without  seeing  some- 
thing of  interest,  and  the  photographs  that 


i 


THE  BIRDS   OF  COWSLIP   CORNER     165 

I  have  secured  there  would  more  than  fill 
a  book  ;  hundreds  of  plates  have  been 
exposed,  and  nearly  a  mile  of  bioscope 
film.  And  yet  each  visit  I  see  something 
new,  and  each  time  I  take  my  camera  a 
fresh  picture  is  secured.  No  matter  how 
long  I  linger  there,  the  time  is  not  wasted. 
There,  a  hundred  songs  greet  me  ;  from 
the  ground,  in  the  bushes,  and  in  the  air 
above,  and  from  the  lake  beyond  the  creek, 
which  comes  almost  up  to  Cowslip  Corner, 
I  hear  the  harsher  cries  of  Grebe  and  Duck, 
of  Coot  and  Moorhen.  Turtle  Doves  call 
from  the  tall  trees,  and  a  Cuckoo  from  the 
hedge,  for  there  is  always  a  young  Cuckoo 
hatched  there,  and  Sedge-Warblers  are 
always  the  foster-parents.  The  Cuckoo 
and  her  mate  remain  near  their  egg,  and 
the  young  bird  when  it  arrives,  although 
they  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  rearing 
of  it ;  but  they  like  to  be  near  at  hand, 
and  to  know  that  their  young  have 
been  successfully  reared.  And  in  this 


1 66  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

favoured  corner  there  are  the  flowers — 
what  would  a  spring  be  without  its 
colour  ?  If  we  had  the  songs  and 
the  blue  sky  alone,  it  would  not  be 
a  springtime  without  the  gay  flowers. 
There  seemed  to  be  the  flowers  of  a  dozen 
meadows  crowded  into  this  small  corner, 
and  violets,  primroses,  cowslips  in  the 
greatest  profusion  ;  patches  of  the  lovely 
blue  veronica,  with  its  thousand  small  faces 
pointing  up  to  the  blue  above,  looking  as 
if  little  flakes  of  the  sky  had  just  tumbled 
down  and  settled  upon  the  grass  to  add 
to  the  beauty  below;  wild  roses,  pink 
and  white,  tall  red  campion  in  the  grass, 
ragged  robin,  and  a  host  of  others 
all  appeared  in  their  turn,  and  made 
that  corner  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  of 
a  beautiful  countryside.  Then,  over  all, 
there  was  the  song  of  the  Lark,  and  there 
were  few  months  of  the  year  in  which  there 
was  not  a  Lark  singing  above.  Mixed  up 
with  the  music  of  the  Warblers,  Thrush, 


THE  BIRDS   OF  COWSLIP   CORNER     167 

and  Finch,  there  was  the  hum  of  a 
thousand  insects'  wings  as  they  went  to 
and  fro,  from  flower  to  flower,  or  the 
bees,  happy  in  the  sunshine,  passed  from 
or  to  their  hives. 

But  all  this  is  in  the  spring  and  summer 
months.  Last  time  I  was  there  the  winter 
had  not  long  gone,  but  the  signs  of  spring 
were  already  showing,  and  on  the  top 
branch  of  a  bush,  silhouetted  against  the 
sky,  I  saw  the  Blackbird.  He  knew  the 
spring  was  coming,  and  his  beautiful 
deep  contralto  notes  told  me,  and  all  his 
little  world  around,  that  it  would  not  be 
long  before  the  butterflies  flitted  their 
short  lives  away  in  the  sunshine,  over  the 
flowers,  in  Cowslip  Corner. 


CHAPTER     XII 
BIRD-WATCHING 

"  T  T  OW  is  it  you  see  all  these  things  ? 
••••*•  I  often  walk  through  the  country 
and  do  not  see  things  you  write  about." 
This  is  a  question  put  to  me  hundreds 
of  times,  especially  after  my  lectures  on 
bird  life.  Well,  I  suppose  it  is,  in  a  way, 
because  I  have  trained  my  eyes  to  search 
out  the  birds.  But  perhaps  the  chief 
asset  of  the  successful  bird-watcher  is 
patience,  and  plenty  of  it.  With  a  fair 
amount  of  patience,  a  small  green  or 
khaki  tent,  and  a  good  field-glass  it  is 
possible  to  see  almost  anything  you  wish 
in  Birdland.  And  if  you  add  a  camera 
to  your  equipment,  then  your  enjoyment 
should  be  complete,  for  you  are  able  to 


BIRD-WATCHING  169 

obtain  records  of  what  you  see.  But  if 
you  have  no  inclination  to  double  yourself 
up  and  hide  for  hours  in  a  small  tent, 
then  you  can  see  an  enormous  lot  of 
interesting  things  by  simply  going  into 
the  woods  or  fields  with  your  field-glass 
and  sitting  still,  and  waiting  for  the  birds 
to  come  to  you.  With  a  powerful 
binocular  such  as  I  use  you  can  do  a 
lot  of  bird-stalking,  and  look  upon  the 
most  fascinating  scenes  as  if  they  were 
happening  only  a  yard  from  you ;  but 
on  the  other  hand,  if  you  simply  find  a 
comfortable  seat  in  the  grass — or  perhaps 
the  best  place  of  all  is  by  the  stream 
side — and  wait,  keeping  your  eyes  open, 
you  will  be  surprised  at  the  varied  things 
you  will  see.  I  have  used  all  kinds  of 
telescopes  and  field-glasses,  but  for  the 
past  twelve  years  I  have  used  a  Goerz 
Prism  Binocular,  and  although  this  has 
had  the  hardest  and  roughest  wear  a 
glass  could  be  put  to,  it  is  still  in  good 


i/o  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

condition.  This  firm  have  recently  intro- 
duced a  new  Prism  glass,  which  gives 
more  light  and  a  larger  field,  and  I  can 
say  without  the  slightest  hesitation  that 
this  is  the  finest  thing  of  its  kind  that 
it  is  possible  to  obtain,  or  to  wish  for  ; 
and  the  naturalist  equipped  with  one  of 
these  glasses  knows  that  he  has  some- 
thing that  will  open  up  to  him  the  secrets 
of  Birdland,  and  show  him  Nature  in  a 
new  light.  A  bird  two  hundred  yards 
away  is  quite  unconscious  that  you  are 
watching  it,  and  to  see  bird-life  at  its 
best  the  bird  must  not  know  that  you 
are  near.  I  put  all  the  success  of  my 
bioscope  pictures  down  to  the  fact  that 
the  apparatus  is  almost  silent,  and  that 
even  when  only  five  feet  away  from  a 
bird,  it  has  not  had  the  slightest  idea  that 
I  am  hiding  and  obtaining  a  living  record 
of  all  its  actions.  If  the  bird  hears  any- 
thing to  make  it  at  all  nervous,  then  you 
do  not  get  a  natural  picture.  It  is  the 


THE   AUTHOR   GOING   OVER   THE   EDGE   OF   A   CLIFF. 


(Page 


BIRD-  WA  TCHING  1 7 1 

same  with  bird-watching :  if  the  bird 
knows  you  are  there  it  is  nervous,  and 
will  not  behave  in  a  natural  manner. 
I  have  sometimes  watched  a  bird  which 
could  see  me,  and  by  its  expression  I 
have  imagined  that  it  felt  like  we  do 
when  placed  before  a  camera  in  a  studio, 
with  a  man  standing  cap  in  hand  waiting 
for  us  to  put  on  a  non-photographic 
expression ! 

To  see  bird-life  at  its  best  you  should 
be  completely  hidden,  and  when  you  find 
a  nest,  and  wish  to  observe  the  home- 
life  of  the  two  birds,  erect  your  bird-tent 
near,  cover  it  with  branches  or  any  other 
material  handy,  and  allow  the  birds  to 
get  quite  used  to  the  strange  erection 
near  their  home.  When  you  go  inside, 
endeavour  to  take  with  you,  to  the  site 
of  the  nest,  two  or  three  companions. 
They  can  help  you  in,  and  when  there 
they  can  cover  up  the  tent  more  com- 
pletely, and  very  soon  after  they  move 


172  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

away  the  birds  will  be  back — that  is  if 
you  are  carefully  concealed.  If  the  birds 
see  you  go  inside  your  time  is  really 
wasted,  for  they  know  you  are  there, 
and  will  not  come  back  for  many  hours. 
I  remember  once  trying  to  photograph  a 
Thrush.  I  waited  over  two  hours  and 
the  bird  did  not  appear,  so  the  following 
day  I  went  to  my  shelter  again  and 
took  with  me  four  companions.  As  soon 
as  I  had  my  two  cameras  ready  they 
walked  away,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes 
the  bird  was  at  the  nest,  and  I  secured 
a  number  of  photographs.  There  are 
some  birds  which  seem  as  if  they  will 
not  return  to  their  nests,  even  if  we  wait 
days,  such  as  the  Buzzard  and  Grey-lag 
Goose.  I  believe  that  these  birds  have 
a  very  strong  sense  of  smell,  and  when 
wishing  to  photograph  or  watch  such 
birds  it  is  a  good  plan  to  smother  the 
tent,  when  it  is  erected,  with  a  fair  amount 
of  oil  of  aniseed.  This  has  a  powerful 


I 


WREN    STOOD    NEAR    THE    NEST    THREE 


BIRD-  WA  TCHING  173 

and  not  very  unpleasant  smell,  and  it 
seems  to  quite  overpower  the  human 
scent  as  far  as  the  birds  are  concerned.  It 
is  as  well,  however,  not  to  wear  clothes 
that  one  might  wear  when  visiting  friends, 
for  the  smell  will  attach  itself  to  you 
for  days,  especially  if  you  spend  many 
hours  in  your  scented  tent,  and  if  you 
should  walk  through  the  streets  of  a 
crowded  town  you  might  attract  some  little 
attention!  It  is  one  of  the  most  fascinat- 
ing things  I  know  of,  to  be  in  hiding 
near  the  nest  of  a  rare  and  beautiful  bird 
without  it  knowing  you  are  near.  I  once 
spent  over  six  hours  in  the  company  of 
that  rare  bird  the  Black-throated  Diver. 
I  was  only  ten  feet  away,  and  all  the  time 
the  bird  was  perfectly  natural  in  its  move- 
ments, and  it  was  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful times  I  ever  spent  in  bird-watching. 
The  small  birds,  however,  those  which 
we  find  nesting  near  our  homes,  are  very 
interesting,  and  some  of  the  very  prettiest 


174  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

scenes  I  have  ever  looked  upon  have  been 
the  domestic  life  at  the  small  nests  of 
Warblers  and  Finches. 

Of  all  places  for  successful  bird-watch- 
ing I  think  the  sides  of  a  stream  are 
the  best,  especially  if  the  banks  should 
be  covered  with  bushes  and  trees.  So 
many  birds  come  to  the  stream,  and 
if  you  keep  perfectly  still  they  will 
take  little  notice  of  you.  I  have 
mentioned  before  that  I  once  had  a 
beautiful  Kingfisher  come  and  settle  a 
few  inches  from  me  while  I  was  sitting 
in  full  view  on  the  banks  ;  in  fact  I  was 
at  the  time  writing  an  article  on  the 
birds  of  the  stream,  when  this  obliging 
little  bird  came  and  stayed  with  me  for 
twenty  minutes  !  Two  years  ago  I  knew 
that  a  pair  of  Kingfishers  had  a  nest 
near  a  picturesque  lake,  but  although 
I  searched  every  available  spot,  as  I 
thought,  I  could  not  find  the  nest. 
Almost  at  the  end  of  the  nesting  season, 


BIRD-WATCHING  175 

right  at  the  end  of  June,  my  sister  went 
out  on  to  the  banks  of  the  lake  with  a 
book.  When  she  returned,  she  men- 
tioned quite  casually  to  me  that  a  lovely 
Kingfisher  had  been  capturing  fish  in 
front  of  her  all  the  morning,  and  that 
it  kept  carrying  the  fish  into  a  hole  in 
the  bank.  I  quickly  went  to  the  spot, 
and  there  found  the  nest,  and  I  could 
tell  by  the  excited  cries  of  the  young  at 
the  end  of  the  long  hole  in  the  bank 
that  they  were  almost  ready  to  leave. 
As  soon  as  possible  my  hiding  place  was 
erected  near  the  nest,  and  I  secured  a 
most  successful  photograph  of  one  of  the 
parent  birds  carrying  a  fish  to  its  young. 
To  give  some  idea  of  how  little  notice 
the  birds  will  take  of  you  if  you  keep 
still,  the  following  incident  is  of  interest. 
Last  year  I  was  sitting  behind  a  screen 
with  my  cameras,  waiting  for  a  water 
bird  to  come  to  its  nest.  The  screen 
consisted  of  two  hurdles  stuffed  with 


1/6  BIRD  BIOGRAPHIES 

reeds.  I  noticed  a  noise  going  on  near 
my  head,  and  turning  slowly,  I  found  to 
my  surprise  that  a  pair  of  Wrens  were 
actually  building  their  nest  a  few  inches 
from  my  head !  I  kept  as  still  as  I 
could,  and  they  worked  all  through  the 
day,  and  when  I  left  they  had  built 
quite  a  large  amount  of  their  home. 
The  following  day  they  still  kept  at 
work,  taking  no  notice  of  me,  and  event- 
ually eggs  were  laid  in  the  nest,  the 
young  appeared,  and  I  secured  a  good 
series  of  photographs  of  the  parents 
feeding  them. 

The  Nature  lover  equipped,  as  I  have 
stated,  with  patience,  will  be  more  than 
repaid  for  all  the  trouble  he  or  she  takes, 
and  the  hours  you  spend  with  the  birds 
will  not  have  been  wasted,  for  all  the 
time  you  are  learning  something  new 
from  the  great  and  ever-changing  book 
of  Nature. 


INDEX 


B 


Binoculars,  169 

Birdland,  15,  98,  170 

BIRDS  OF   COWSLIP   CORNER, 
THE,  153 

BIRDS  OF  A  NORTHERN  LOCH, 
THE,  58 

Birds  and  patience,  168 

BIRD-WATCHING,  168 

Bird-watching  by  stream,  174 

Blackbird,  130,  164 
„          nest  of,  99 
„  song  of,  167 

Blackcap,  the,  159 

„          and       Garden- War- 
bler, 160 

„         and  Nightingale,  161 
„         building  nest,  160 
„          building         dummy 

nest,  125 
„          song  of,  160 

Bullfinch  hedge,  a,  154 

BUZZARD,  THE,  13 

Buzzard,  the,  172 

„        and  young,  22 
„        attacking  man,  34 
„        building  of  the  nest, 

24 

„        courting  of,  19 
„        disappearance          of 

young,  36 


Buzzard,  favourite  site  of  nest> 

29 

„        home  of,  13 
„        in  winter,  41 
„        laying  of    the    eggs, 

31 

„        nest,  a  landmark,  27 
„        nest,  lining  of,  32 
„        nest,  on  mountain,  26 
„        nest,  night  at,  39 
„        nest,  typical,  28 
„        note  of,  33 
„        young  eating  rabbit, 

40 
„        young,  energy  of,  35 


Chiltern  Hills,  the,  80 
Coot,  the,  44 

„     and  little  Grebe,  141 

„     attacking  Grebe,  135 
Cowslip  Corner,  song  in,  165 
Cowslips,  153 
CRADLE  IN  THE  REEDS,  THE, 

121 
Crow  and  Blackbird,  100 

„     and  Herring  Gull,  67 

„     and  Skylark,  101 

„     and  Thrush,  106 

„     and  Weasel,  104 

„     building  nest,  107 


12 


178 


INDEX 


Crow,  Carrion,  66 

»          „        and  Lapwing,  93 

„     death  of,  69,  108 

„     driving  away  young,  106 

„     food  of,  101 

„     Hooded,  65 

„      Hooded  and  Diver,  71 

„          „        nest  of,  66 

„     leaving  nest,  102 

„     mating  of,  69 
1  „     nest  of,  97 

„     pining  for  mate,  109 

„     shooting  of,  69 
Cuckoo,  the,  122 

and     Sedge-Warbler, 
165 


Dipper,  feeding,  148 
„       home  of,  146 
„       nest  of,  144 
,,       young,  150 
„  „        leaving  nest,  151 

Diver,  Black-throated,  69,  173 
„  „          „          diving, 

72 
„  „          „          mating 

of,  73 

„  „          „          nest  of, 

70 

„      Red-throated,  note  of,  76 
Ducks,  Wild,  43,  55 


Eagle,  Golden,  38 

Egg-thief,  1 8,  30 

EGGS  ON  TOP  OF  THE  HILL, 


Falcon,  Peregrine,  96 


Garden- Warbler,  song  of,  160 

Geese,  wild,  note  of,  76 

Goose,  Grey-lag,  60,  172 
„          „       „     nest  of,  63 
„          „       „     shyness  of,  63 
„          „       „     strange  beha- 
viour of,  64 

Grebe,  Great-crested,  73,  81 
„      and  Coot,  133 
„      fighting,  132 
„      Little,  43,  140 
„          „      and  Coot,  141 
„  „       and  young,  142 

„          „      covering  eggs,  1 42 
„          „      note  of,  142 
„      note  of,  131 
„      rebuilding  nest,  136 

Greenfinch,  164 

Gull,  Common,  61 
„    Greater  Black-backed,  61 
„          „  „       note  of, 

76 

„     Herring,    and    Duckling, 
68 


HOME    IN    THE    OLD    STONE 
BRIDGE,  THE,  144 


J 
Jackdaw,  the,  118 


INDEX 


179 


K 

Kestrel  and  Raven,  1 14 
Kingfisher,  the,  149,  174 

„  AND  ITS  HOME,  THE, 

43 

„          and  young,  50 
„         building  nest,  45 
„         capturing  prey,  47 
„          driving  young  away, 

56 

„         feeding  mate,  45,  47 
„         method    of  feeding 

young,  51 
„  note  of,  44 
„  young  leaving  nest, 

53 
Kite,  38,  42 


LAKE  IN  THE  VALLEY,  THE,  130 
Lapwing,  alarm  cry,  89 
Lapwing,  and  Crow,  93 
„         and  lamb,  90 
„         and  young,  92 
„         male  bird's  nest,  89 

nest  of,  88 
Lark,  the,  44,  130 

„     singing,  77,  166 
Linnet,  the,  158 

„        kissing  mate,  159 

M 

Mallards,  55 
Missel  Thrush,  14 
Moorhen,  the,  44 

N 

NEST  IN  THE  OLD  OAK,  THE, 
97 


NEST  ON  THE  GREY  CRAG,  THE, 

no 

Nightingale,  the,  154 
Northern  loch,  a,  59 


Rat,  105 

Raven  attacking  lambs,  1 19 

„      and  Buzzard,  113 

„      and  Kestrel,  114 

„      and  Rock- Dove,  113 

„      and  photographer,  116 

„      building  nest,  no 

„      eggs  of,  112 

„      nest  of,  1 10 

„      note  of,  76 
Reed- Warbler,  the,  122 

»  »        feeding   young, 

126 

»  „        young     leaving 

nest,  127 


Sandpiper,  note  of,  76 
Scavenger  of  Hills,  119 
Scotland,  58 
Scottish  loch,  74 
Sparrow,  Hedge,  the,  164 
Starling,  the,  49 
Stoat,  the,  105 

„      attacking  Thrush,  164 
Swallows,  55 


Tent,  bird-watching,  171 

Thrush,  the,  49,  120 
„        and  Stoat,  164 
„        feeding  young,  85 
„        nest  of,  84 


1 8o 


INDEX 


Thrush,  photographing,  172 

„        song  of,  82,  161 
Twite,  14 


Village,  an  English,  79 
VILLAGE  THRUSH,  THE,  78 

W 

Warbler,  building  dummy  nest, 
125 


Warbler,  Garden,  125 

„        Reed,  122,  130,  154 

Sedge,  130,  153 
Weasel,  the,  86 
Whimbrel,  the,  76 
Whitethroat,  the,  162 
Wren,  the,  50,  150 
„      and  mate,  157 
„      attacking  photographer, 

156 

„      nest  of,  156 
„      Willow,  the,  155 


UNWIN  BROTHERS,  LIMITED,  THE  GRESHAM  PRESS,  WOKING  AND  LONDON 


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